


Kiss, With Tongue

by tamlane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Consent Issues, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Games, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Loss of Virginity, Out of Character, Recreational Drug Use, Valentine's Day, honestly there are so many kinks here i lost track of them all, those are the biggies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/tamlane
Summary: Frustrated with the male propensity to 'shag and run,' the girls engage in a contest to see who can go the farthest by Valentine's Day without going all the way. But perhaps they should have chosen their partners more carefully…
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lavender Brown/Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 86
Kudos: 323
Collections: DramioneLove Valentine's Fic and Art Fest 2013, Past read, The Dramione Collection





	1. Ain't had no fun, all the time jackin' around

**Author's Note:**

> August 2020: Finally getting around to archiving this dinosaur from 2013. I wrote it after a long fandom hiatus and was still very much in a mid-2000s Dramione mindset, so be warned up front for a general sense of antagonism, sex god!Draco, glorification of the bad boy, power dynamics and consent issues, and a variety of explicit sexual activity.
> 
> [This was the prompt](http://dramionelove.livejournal.com/33684.html?thread=65428#t65428), and the fic was originally posted [here](http://dramionelove.livejournal.com/52696.html) at [dramionelove](http://dramionelove.livejournal.com)'s Valentine's Fic & Art Fest 2013. 
> 
> Chapter titles are all from songs on Violent Femme's self-titled album.
> 
> I am forever indebted to my beta, **I.M.** This story would not have come to fruition without her friendship, encouragement, good judgment, and keen eye.

_Tuesday 26 January  
7:16pm_

"Lavender! Focus."

Hermione wished she had a Knut for every time she had said that this year. These enforced study sessions were killing her. Not only did she not particularly enjoy the company of Lavender Brown or Pansy Parkinson, but she was also beginning to panic about their impending N.E.W.T.s. They had only 19 weeks and 4 days left to study. She could have made so much more progress by herself.

Unfortunately, Professor Flitwick had sorted them into groups of three and demanded that they do all their essay work together. They even had to sign in and out of the library together at the appointed times, every Tuesday night. 

"I don't like to focus," Lavender whined. "Please don't make me."

"We've got to get this essay done this week," Hermione said, tapping her quill on the parchment. "And we need to make it thorough. Professor Flitwick said there would be an entire section devoted to concealment charms on the N.E.W.T. practical."

"So why are we writing an essay at all?" Lavender asked, her cheek mashed against the heel of her hand. "Let's go conceal something and have done with it."

"Let's start with that cardigan," Pansy suggested contemptuously. "It's giving me a migraine."

Lavender looked deeply insulted. "I just bought this!"

"Where? From Sally Samhill's Secondhand Store?" Pansy's sniffed. "Rosettes are so pre-war."

"Oh yeah?" Lavender piped up. "I'll tell you what's pre-war: bob haircuts! Everyone knows you're just trying to elongate your squishy face."

"I am this close to squishing _your_ face!"

"Ladies!" Hermione hissed. "We still have four inches to go here. Now. I say we round out the information on Disillusionment Charms with a nod to Roebuck's experimental research on focused blending. I know it's controversial, but it does have added benefits in daylight situations, and I really think the testing committee will be looking for critical thinking skills over basic charm theory. After all, that's what separates the N.E.W.T.s from the O.W.L.s, right?"

They looked at her blankly, but at least they'd stopped bickering.

"I’m sorry," Lavender said. "You lost me at 'ladies.'"

"You know what your problem is, Granger?" Pansy asked. Hermione wished she had a Knut for every time she'd heard that one, too.

"My sorry excuse for revision partners?" Hermione speculated.

"You need to get laid," Pansy said.

"So do I," Lavender added enthusiastically.

Not again. Hermione looked at her watch. Well, at least they'd made it almost twenty minutes this time before the topic of sex came up. That had to be a record.

Pansy rolled her eyes and continued, "But if you can't find it in a book or postulate on its critical… whatever… you're clueless."

"I am not clueless," Hermione spat. "Some of us have more important things on our minds. Just because the two of you can't go a day without a trip to the Astronomy Tower—"

"It's been more than five miserable weeks for me," Lavender groaned.

"I have needs, Granger," Pansy announced in an airy tone. "And I'm not too much of a prude to admit it."

"I am not a prude!" Hermione asserted for the millionth time. "I have needs, too." She sneered at Pansy. "But I also have standards."

"And I don't? Is that it?" Pansy asked.

"Merlin knows I don't," Lavender said.

Hermione groaned. "It's always sex, sex, sex with you two!"

"Because we're not getting any," Lavender pointed out.

Pansy made a high-pitched noise. "Speak for yourself, Brown."

"You're getting laid, are you?" Lavender asked.

Pansy sat up straighter in her chair. Hermione had come to realize that this nervous habit of hers always preceded a most outrageous lie. "I have… prospects."

"Prospects," Hermione mimicked her. "That's rich."

"More than you can say for yourself, Granger," Pansy spat.

Hermione sat up a little straighter herself. "I think I could do just fine. _If_ I was interested in that sort of thing."

"You do, do you?" Pansy asked.

Hermione squared her jaw. "I know I could." Worst-case scenario, she could always hit Ron up for a tumble in a broom closet. He was fairly good at it, and she would be lying if she didn't admit that she'd considered it more than once since they had returned for their post-war eighth year. But the emotions involved were messy, to say the least.

"Care to test that theory?" Pansy challenged her.

"No," Hermione said firmly. "You know what I want? I want to go an entire study session without the two of you mentioning boys or sex or anything of the sort. I'd settle for a single half-hour, but I imagine that's wishful thinking on my part."

They didn't say anything in response, and Hermione returned to her notes, pleased to hear nothing but the sound of flipping pages and scratching quills.

It lasted a total of three minutes and forty-two seconds.

"You know, I could have sworn I saw Dean Thomas get a boner in Herbology last Wednesday," Lavender said in a faraway voice. "I mean, I know he's almost like a brother at this point, but the size of his feet alone—"

"Answer me this," Hermione interrupted, dropping her quill in frustration. "If you were getting sex, would you stop talking about sex?"

Lavender perked up. "I'd settle for a good snog at this point," she said.

"We've already established that I do not have a problem with sex," Pansy noted. "You are the one with the problem, Granger."

"No," Lavender said, "the problem is boys."

This was new. "What do you mean?" Hermione asked. "Getting them?"

"No." Lavender shrugged and lowered her voice. "Keeping them."

"Maybe that's a problem for you," Pansy said with a truly catty smirk.

"Oh, give over, Parkinson," Hermione said with a huff. "We see you in the common room every night." And they did. Eighth years unfortunately all shared the same makeshift dormitory. "You're snoring in an armchair by 9:30."

"I do not—"

"Actually," Lavender said, "you do."

Hermione chuckled. "You're having about as much sex as I am."

Lavender rolled her eyes. "Can we please just establish that we are all desperate and move on? Like I said, the problem is not getting a willing partner. It's keeping him."

"You know," Hermione said thoughtfully, "you've got a point. Boys get weird after sex." Even Ron had sort of freaked out on her after their first time, though he did end up coming back for more.

"The fun part is all the other stuff," Lavender pointed out, "and they usually want to skip right over that."

"What stuff?" Pansy asked with a wicked grin.

"You know." Lavender raised one eyebrow. "The other stuff."

"Such as?" Pansy prodded.

Lavender was nothing if not a Gryffindor at heart. "Well, I wouldn't mind having an enthusiastic tongue between my legs, if you know what I mean."

"Ew," Pansy said. "I don't think anyone could _not_ know what you mean by that, Brown."

"You asked!" Lavender reminded her.

"Actually," Hermione cut in, "I think you're onto something, Lavender."

"I am?"

"Yes." Hermione studied both of them for a moment. "The two of you don't need sex. You need foreplay." Even Pansy couldn't disguise her sudden interest. "What if…." Hermione narrowed her eyes, thinking.

A few moments passed in silence.

"I hate it when you do that!" Pansy gritted. "What if what?"

"Let's say you ask a boy out," Hermione said.

Pansy huffed loudly. "I do not ask boys out. They ask me out."

"Maybe that's your problem," Lavender muttered.

"I do not—"

"Have a problem," Hermione finished for her. "Yeah, we get it. But let's say that – just this once – you ask a boy out. And you act interested in sex. Not overtly interested. But you send him signals that you're… you know… game, so to speak."

"That's standard operating procedure, isn't it?" Lavender asked.

"Yes, but…" Hermione picked her quill back up and tapped the end of it against her lips. "I mean, say you keep sending signals, but you never quite go all the way." They looked at her, obviously waiting for more. "The problem is that we – girls, I mean – let ourselves get so carried away by the first act that the play's over before we even know what's happened. What if we make it a logical progression?"

"I like to keep logic far away from my foreplay, thanks," Lavender said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What I mean is that you arrange the obstacle course ahead of time, and your partner has to move through all the obstacles before he can cross the finish line. Naturally, it would require a patient partner and a little bit of restraint on your part."

"No way," Pansy said with a wave of her hand. "No boy is that patient."

"I disagree," Hermione said. "Plenty of boys would be patient if they sincerely thought they had a chance to go all the way. I think a lot of girls just have low expectations." She tried not to give Lavender a pointed glare. "And they're not willing to tell their partner what they want." And sometimes you find that you just don't want the same things, but she left that unsaid.

"Like you're an expert, Granger," Pansy snarled.

"I didn't say I was an expert," Hermione replied, bristling. "The point is that if you play it right, your partner won't toss you aside. Not until he gets what he wants. So until that happens—"

"—you own him," Pansy finished for her, a sadistic look in her eyes.

"You could look at it that way, I suppose," Hermione replied distastefully.

"And you think you could play it right, then?" Pansy asked, her voice thick with doubt.

"Yes," Hermione asserted, raising her chin. "You know, I think maybe I could."

"Well, I know I could," Pansy bragged.

"I seriously doubt I could," Lavender said, "but it might be fun to try."

There was silence for a moment. They all sat there staring at each other eagerly, brains working overtime.

"Let's do it," Pansy said at last.

Hermione twitched, startled. Her brain had not been working in that direction. "What?" she asked dubiously. "Do what?"

Pansy leaned in across the table. "Valentine's Day is less than three weeks away. Let's do it. Let's find a date. Then we proceed to do everything with him but have sex." She was now whispering excitedly. "It's perfect! If we play our cards right, we're practically guaranteed a date for Valentine's Day."

"And sex on Valentine's Day!" Lavender added.

"And by sex," Pansy added, "you mean—"

"His cock," Lavender said without flinching. "In any orifice other than your mouth."

Hermione shrugged. "That definition works for me."

Pansy looked slightly uneasy. "All right," she said. "If we're going to do it, we might as well make it a competition."

"What? No way," Hermione said, chuckling at the thought.

"I knew it!" Pansy cried, pointing at her. "You don't think you can do it. You don't think you have the – what was the word? – _restraint_."

Hermione found herself grinding her teeth. She did not like having her own words thrown back at her, but Pansy was famous for it. "I have plenty of restraint," she snapped.

"Or maybe you're the one whose expectations aren't so high?" Pansy taunted her. "You'd be happy with anything you can get, I bet."

"I can undoubtedly get more than you, Parkinson," Hermione spat. "Not to mention better." She was a war heroine, after all. That had to count for something.

"I'd like to see you try," Pansy challenged.

"Is that right?" Hermione countered. Something inside her clicked. She wasn't going to just sit there and be told that she was a prude who couldn't get and keep a date for less than three weeks. She slammed her Charms textbook shut and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, her eyes never leaving Pansy's.

"So what are we doing?" Lavender asked.

Hermione raised her chin defiantly. "We're making a list."

"We are?" Pansy asked, her brows knitting together.

"Yes." Hermione spread the parchment flat and dipped her quill in ink. "We're going to list all of the things we want to do with our date before Valentine's Day. I'll triplicate the list and charm it. Once we've done something, it will automatically get crossed off." She paused. "And the person with the most items crossed off by Valentine's Day without going all the way… wins."

"Wins what?" Pansy demanded, her eyes narrowing.

"A whole bunch of orgasms, hopefully," said Lavender. She suddenly looked wide awake and raring to go.

"And a date for Valentine's Day," Hermione added. She supposed that couldn't be a bad thing.

"And bragging rights," Pansy said.

Hermione tried to keep from rolling her eyes. "If that's important to you."

"Oh, it is."

"Okay," Hermione said. "I'll start. _Kiss, with tongue_."

"Hands on breasts," Lavender supplied eagerly. "Bare breasts."

"Good one," Hermione agreed. "And hands… you know, inside knickers."

Lavender tapped her finger against her lips thoughtfully. "What about wanking together?"

Pansy snickered. "Where's the fun in that?"

"It could be fun," Hermione conceded. "I'll add it."

"And we should include bondage," Lavender said.

"What kind of freak are you, Brown?" Pansy hissed, sounding highly offended.

Hermione didn't think anyone deserved to be called a freak just because they enjoyed less conventional foreplay. "I'm fine with bondage," Hermione said coolly, scribbling it down before Pansy could protest further.

"Gryffindors," Pansy spat. "Unbelievable."

"Go on, then," Lavender challenged her. "You name something."

Pansy looked taken back for a moment. Then she caught herself and looked down at her fingernails, attempting to look bored. "Oral sex," she said.

"Which one?" Hermione asked.

"Well, duh," Pansy said. "If it's done on girls, it's oral sex. If it's done on boys, it's a blow job."

Hermione paused with her quill above the parchment, her mouth open slightly. She decided it wasn't worth it. "I'll just go ahead and list them both, shall I?"

"Be sure to list them separately," Lavender said. "And add rimming."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "I am not adding rimming, Lavender."

"Good call, Granger," Pansy said, though it seemed to pain her to agree with Hermione. "Rimming is right out."

"All right, then." Lavender sounded only slightly disappointed. "How about… ear-whispering?"

"That's—" Hermione paused. It wasn't normally something she would consider. But she had to agree that it could be quite nice. "Actually, that's a good one. And I'm adding frottage while we're at it."

"Ooh, yes, frottage is the best," Lavender squeaked excitedly. "Clothed or unclothed?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Let's make it clothed."

Lavender giggled. "I like the way you think."

They sat in silence for a few moments, all of them with their chins propped on their hands.

"What else?" Hermione asked, dipping her quill again for some fresh ink.

"Did we include hands down his pants?" Pansy asked.

"We have hands down knickers," Hermione said.

Lavender made a frantic gesture. "We should list them separately."

"All right," Hermione said. "I'll add it now." Her eyes scanned the list. "Well, this should keep us busy."

"We're not stopping there, are we?" asked Lavender, as though Hermione had just taken her last cookie.

"Why?" Hermione asked. "What did we leave out?"

"Nipples. Nipple sucking and the like."

"Of course," Hermione agreed, writing down _Basic nipple play_. "Some of this just seems so obvious, doesn't it?"

"Ah!" Lavender exclaimed. "Love bites!"

"I like that one," Pansy said, perking up noticeably.

Hermione snorted. "Want to be marked, do you, Parkinson?"

"I – what?" Pansy tried to backpedal. "No. I mean—"

"Fingering!" Lavender said in a loud whisper. "Oh my god, how could we forget fingering?"

"Exactly how many fingers are we talking here?" Pansy asked, shifting in her seat.

"Standard two, I would presume," Hermione said.

"Works for me," Lavender agreed. "Does that work for you, Parkinson?"

"Just two?" she asked, studying her nails again.

Lavender shrugged. "Well, I always thought three was kind of overkill."

"I agree," Hermione said.

"Wimps," Pansy mumbled.

"So is that all?" Hermione asked, turning the list around so they could look at it.

> _Kiss, with tongue  
>  Hands on bare breasts  
>  Hands inside knickers  
>  Mutual masturbation  
>  Bondage  
>  Cunnilingus  
>  Fellatio  
>  Ear-whispering  
>  Frottage, clothed  
>  Hands down pants (his)  
>  Basic nipple play  
>  Love bites  
>  Fingering_

Pansy eyed it suspiciously. Lavender read through it with relish, her lips moving over the words.

"I think that covers it," Lavender said at last.

"Should we put them in any particular order?" Hermione wondered aloud. It seemed a shame not to, but Hermione had to admit that agreeing on any particular order with these two might be a huge task.

"I like it just like that," Lavender said. "Leave it."

"Parkinson?" Hermione prodded.

"I suppose it will do," Pansy said airily.

"So. Now to triplicate it." Hermione took out her wand and flicked her wrist. The parchment glowed slightly, and then Hermione lifted three separate copies off of one another. "And charm it." She tapped each parchment once with her wand, giving the spell her full concentration. Then she glared at Lavender. "I told you that those advanced Detection Charms would come in handy. Good thing Roebuck—"

"Oh, for Salazar's sake!" Pansy spat. "Why don't you marry Roebuck if you love him so much?"

"I wouldn't mind but, unfortunately," Hermione said defensively, "he disappeared about fourteen years ago. Strangest thing, too—"

"Give me my list!" Lavender demanded.

"Fine," Hermione said, sliding it across the table. "And yours, Parkinson."

"Are you sure these are all the same?" Pansy asked suspiciously.

Hermione gave her a look. "They're copies," she said. "They're the same down to every dotted 'i'."

"So."

"Yeah."

"Right."

"Now we just pick a willing partner?" Lavender asked.

"I've got Longbottom," Pansy said eagerly.

Lavender giggled. "Longbottom? Really?"

Pansy squared her shoulders. "Some of us are in this to win, Brown. Longbottom would do anything that was asked of him. He might as well have a sign posted to his forehead: WIPE FEET HERE."

"You might be surprised," Hermione replied in a sing-song voice. She knew Neville well enough to know that he had some serious spine when it came down to it.

"Doubt it," Pansy said dismissively.

"Hope you have some illustrated guidebooks," Lavender teased her. "Maybe even a map."

"Lavender!" Hermione said in a scolding voice.

"What?" She looked genuinely confused. "Am I wrong?"

Hermione gave Lavender a faint smile. "I wouldn't know."

"Well. I'll take Blaise Zabini," Lavender announced, as though it was the best idea ever.

Pansy snickered. 

"What?" Lavender asked defensively.

"I'm just saying." Pansy raised one palm. "Don't believe the hype."

"Oh, I believe it," Lavender said. She sounded like she was defending her mother, not Blaise Zabini. "And I plan to fully capitalize on it."

Pansy shrugged. "Your funeral."

Lavender narrowed her eyes. "What do you know that I don't?"

"I've been around Blaise for over seven years," she said. "I seriously doubt he earned his reputation. Most likely, he started a few rumors and watched it take off from there."

Lavender made a dismissive gesture. "Either way, he's famous for his skills."

"Infamous, you mean," Hermione said with a chuckle.

"And what about you, Granger?" Pansy asked, turning on her. "Who's the unlucky bloke?"

"I—"

Suddenly the reality of the situation hit her. Hermione had not thought this far ahead. She had been going along with them, sure, mostly to get Pansy off her back. But she wasn't really planning on going through with any of this.

"Well?" Lavender nagged. "Don't make us pick for you."

"You know what? This is ridiculous," Hermione said, straightening her parchments and books. "I can't believe I got carried away like this." Then she started to panic. "We don't have time for this! Do you know how much I have to do in the next month for Transfiguration alone?"

"Breathe," Lavender said.

Out of nowhere, a green light passed over the table. Startled, Hermione looked at Pansy and found her sitting there smugly, twirling her wand between her fingers.

"What did you just do?" Hermione inquired frantically.

"I'm not letting you out of this now, Granger!" Pansy exclaimed.

Hermione's mouth went dry. "What did you do?"

"Binding spell," Pansy said with a smirk. "We all have to at least do the kiss before noon on Valentine's Day."

"What?!" Hermione's voice carried through their corner of the library.

Pansy laughed at her mercilessly. "Aren't you glad you've taught me so many critical thinking skills?" She looked very pleased with herself. "Looks like you'd better pick a victim. Oops, I mean partner."

Hermione tried to calm herself. She hated the look of smug satisfaction on Pansy's face. "I suppose just a kiss isn't too bad," she said, trying for indifference.

"So who's it going to be?" Pansy asked.

"Fine," Hermione gritted. "I'll pick…" She thought for a moment. Was there someone she could choose… someone so despicable that she would never want to do more than give him the required kiss, with tongue?

"Malfoy," she said at last.

"Draco Malfoy?" Pansy asked, eyes wide. And then she started cackling as though it was the funniest thing she had ever heard.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked, feeling uneasy. Was he a terrible kisser or something? She supposed Pansy would know. Actually, it was probably best if he was.

"No-nothing," Pansy said, wiping at her eyes. "Why on earth would you pick Draco?" Her amusement suddenly vanished, and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, I get it. You don't really want to test your precious restraint at all. Do you?"

Hermione crossed her arms, refusing to speak.

"So let me get this straight," Pansy said. "We're having a competition, but I'm the only one who's actually competing?"

"I'm competing!" Lavender exclaimed, looking offended.

"No, Brown," Pansy drawled, "you are delusional."

Hermione started to wonder what Pansy knew about her former housemates that they didn't know.

"Fine," Pansy said at last, waving her hand. "You two can do whatever you like. I'm going to do everything on this list and enjoy every minute of it."

"So am I!" Lavender asserted.

"I'll do the kiss," Hermione muttered through her teeth.

"With tongue," Pansy reminded her, smiling wickedly.

"Yes," Hermione huffed. "With tongue."

"And we check in on each others' progress during next week's session?" Pansy asked.

"Works for me," Lavender said.

"Can't wait," Hermione gritted.


	2. I'm high as a kite, I just might stop to check you out

_Wednesday 27 January  
6:04am_

Navigating an eighth year at Hogwarts was complicated at the best of times and downright awkward at the worst.

There were no house distinctions for eighth years. This meant no earning points, no losing points, and – much to Harry and Ron's chagrin – no Quidditch participation. It had been decided by the Board of Governors that eighth year involvement in these rivalries would be unfair to the rest of school.

But the most awkward part of eighth year – and its lack of house distinctions – was having to share a dormitory. The sixty-or-so percent of their year that had opted to return were all assigned to makeshift accommodations in the south wing of the castle, in an area previously reserved for overflow classrooms and faculty research facilities. 

Hermione had never appreciated this awkwardness as much as she did the morning after they had actuated The Plan. Not only had she suffered a night of fitful sleep, but when she entered the eighth year common room early the next morning, the first thing she saw was Draco Malfoy.

She paused at the foot of the stairs for a moment, just staring. He sat in an armchair by one of the still-darkened windows, reading. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed casually at the ankles. He was fresh from a shower. With his chin-length wet hair tucked behind his ears, she could appreciate the stark angles of his face.

This should have been her first warning sign.

There were a few other students in the common room, but she found that she couldn't look away from Malfoy. 

That should have been the second warning sign.

He looked up suddenly, and she jumped, startled. 

"Like what you see, Granger?" he asked with an amused smirk. 

"What are you talking about?" she snapped defensively, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks.

"You're checking me out." He shrugged, as though anyone would be blind not to do just that.

The only retort that came to mind was a huffy _'In your dreams,'_ and that sounded childish in her mind, so she settled her bag more securely over her shoulder and headed to the door without another word, chin held high. If she was going to be sleep-deprived, then she was determined to at least have a nice, leisurely breakfast.

On Wednesday mornings they had to be in the greenhouses for Herbology by seven-thirty. More perks of eighth year: unusual class times and extended breaks between classes. Professor Sprout, like most of the Hogwarts staff, was overcome with a post-war determination to promote unity, and therefore insisted on randomly pairing them up for assignments.

Hermione was partnered with Pansy that morning, who not only served to remind her of The Plan, but also considered it a grave injustice to be forced to encounter dirt.

"At least these don't bite," Pansy said distastefully, trying to use a Severing Charm on their Alihotsy shrub.

"That won't work," Hermione snapped. "You're going to have to put on some gloves and use these." She held up the pruning shears they had each been given at the start of class.

Pansy reluctantly shoved her hands into the heavy gloves and snipped at the leaves they were meant to be harvesting, making sure to keep the plant at least an arm's length away from her face.

Hermione rolled her eyes but then decided to take advantage of their enforced partnership. The loud fans at the ends of the greenhouse were going full blast, so she felt she could speak freely without being overheard. "What happens if I don't get the kiss by Valentine's Day?" she inquired. That little question had kept her up all night.

"Are you really that lame?" Pansy countered. "It's just a kiss, Granger."

"Tell me what happens," Hermione demanded through her teeth.

"Trust me." Pansy's grin was classic Slytherin. "You don't want to know."

Hermione was not keen on turning this into a guessing game. "Boils?" she found herself asking nonetheless.

Pansy's lip curled. "I wouldn't risk that myself, would I?"

"So you admit that you might have trouble, as well?"

At that precise moment, Neville walked by to exchange harvesting pails. Hermione looked over to discover that Neville and Terry Boot had already finished the first plant and moved onto their second.

Pansy lifted one eyebrow at Hermione. "Longbottom," she barked.

Neville jumped, dropping his pail and sending Alihotsy leaves flying everywhere. 

"Oh, here," Pansy said sweetly. "Let me help with you that." She used the Suctioning Charm they had just perfected before the holidays, causing all of the spilled leaves to fly toward the tip of her wand. With a flick of her wrist, she returned them to the pail, giving Neville a sugary smile.

"Not bad," he mumbled, going red.

"But I could use some help with the essay Sprout assigned for next week," Pansy cooed, batting her eyelashes.

It was with great effort that Hermione refrained from snorting.

Neville looked torn between suspicion and pride. It was well known that he was the best in their year at the subject. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "I thought I might work on the essay Friday night," he said at last.

"Perhaps we could meet somewhere and work on it together?" Pansy suggested.

Neville looked at Hermione as though to determine whether he was in the correct universe. Hermione worked on their plant with renewed vigor.

"Er…" There was a long pause. "Maybe so."

"Excellent," Pansy said, and out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw her touch Neville's arm. "We'll talk details later."

Then he was gone, and Pansy was giving Hermione a look of pure conceit. "Piece of cake," she said.

"If you hurt him—"

"Oh, get off your high horse," Pansy interrupted her. "The whole idea is to have a little fun. Not that you'd be familiar with the concept."

Hermione ignored Pansy, but now she couldn't help looking across the greenhouse at Malfoy. He looked supremely bored, though the expression that was marred by the smudge of dirt across his pale cheek. Mandy Brocklehurst had not bothered to point this out to him.

She didn't see him again until lunch, and by that time the dirt was gone. For matters of practicality, eighth years dined at the tables with their former housemates. It was her only break from Malfoy and the other Slytherins, and Hermione cherished it, even if she now found herself stealing glances at him across the hall.

Actually, she found herself stealing glances at him throughout the entire day. _What might it be like to kiss Malfoy?_ she wondered against her will, the thought on a loop in her mind. She would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she had considered it before now… before this year, even….

By Potions that afternoon, she had firmly resolved to put it out of her mind. They were beginning Agitation Draughts, which made use of the Alihotsy leaves they had harvested, among some other odd twenty-two ingredients. It was complicated work that would take nearly a month to complete, and Hermione had tried to read through the text several times the night before to make notes.

As they stood in line to get their ingredients, she reviewed her notes, knowing that the first few steps were crucial. She was so engrossed in consulting her parchment that she didn't notice Malfoy reaching for the Gurdyroot at the exact moment she did. Their hands brushed and Hermione jumped.

Her heart hammered in her chest. He snatched his hand away, but the disgust she expected to see on his face never appeared. In fact, he seemed to be mildly amused, and that's when she realized that he was still picking his ingredients off the shelf, and she was just standing there staring.

"You're doing it again," he said, raising one eyebrow.

She huffed, quickly grabbing the rest of what she needed. But when they turned to head back to their stations – and this was probably due to her sudden attack of nerves – they weren't able to get around each other. They both went to her left, then right, then left again, until she thought that Malfoy might actually be toying with her.

"This is not dance class, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said in a silky voice. She was sure that he was deeply regretting the fact that he couldn't take five points from Gryffindor for her sudden clumsiness.

Glaring at Malfoy, she stepped backwards and turned coolly on her heel.

That evening she ate dinner quickly and headed to the library. Regardless of The Plan, she still had plenty of schoolwork to finish. Her attempts to study, however, were in vain. Instead she found herself sitting at a large desk covered with opened books and looking only at the list in front of her.

> _Kiss, with tongue  
>  Hands on bare breasts  
>  Hands down knickers_

Hands. Hands. Hands. She couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy's hands, which was ridiculous because his hands really had nothing to do with getting the requisite kiss. She should have been focusing on his lips, planning her attack. Should she corner him in a corridor somewhere and just take it? Should she go through the charade of asking him out on – her stomach turned at the thought – a date? Was there any situation in which she might find herself accidentally putting her tongue in his mouth?

That one brief touch at the Potions cupboard had set her on edge, and she had ended up watching his hands throughout the class. His fingers were long and thin. He chopped and diced and measured with care and precision, almost as though he enjoyed it. He stirred gently. He poured delicately. But when the directions said to _crush_ … Hermione shuddered at the focused force he put behind the heel of his palm.

She was starting to wonder if Pansy's binding spell had a similar effect to a love potion. Surely that was the only explanation for why she was suddenly admiring his hair… why she suddenly could not stop thinking about his hands… why at dinner she had watched from across the hall as he sucked on an orange wedge….

This was insanity. She carefully stowed the list in her planner, which she locked with a Sticking Charm. She had completed one of the three essays due by next week, so she felt she could reasonably call it a night. With a wave of her wand, the books on her desk flew into a neat stack on the re-shelving cart, and she packed her bag to head back to the dormitory.

But before she left, there was just one book she had been meaning to check out for some late-night reading. When she got to that row, Draco Malfoy's long, slender fingers were already flipping through its pages.

She crossed her arms. This was too much of a coincidence, even if McGonagall had mentioned the text in class the previous day. No one else ever checked out McGonagall's suggested reading.

Make that no one but Hermione Granger and, suddenly, Draco Malfoy. Wasn't it enough that he and his hands were invading her personal life? Now he had to invade her intellectual life, too?

"You can't take that book!" she hissed at him.

He tucked it under his arm and gave her a smug look. And then he sauntered down the narrow aisle in her direction.

She stood her ground. "It's the only one that describes Coalbishop's theory on metal transfiguration in detail," she explained a bit desperately. 

Now he was smirking. "I know."

"Oh please," she said. "You couldn't possibly care about—"

"Not as much as you, anyway?" he interrupted her, and now one eyebrow was raised in challenge. "Is that what you're saying?"

He had drawn quite close to her. She looked down at the book and then back up at his lips – er, _eyes_. She would have never believed she would be arguing with Malfoy over a book. "Fine," she said. "Take it."

"So big of you, Granger," he said, giving her a mock look of appreciation. "I think I will."

And he brushed past her. In years past, it might have been more of a shove. But this was a brush, and his body felt warm and firm where it touched hers.

She pressed her eyes closed after he was gone, trying not to think about the fact that she had touched Malfoy twice in one day. And it had sent fire coursing through her both times.

* * *

_Wednesday 27 January  
5:42pm_

There were a few things that Blaise Zabini knew as gospel truths.

One: He was hot as hell.

Definitely the hottest person in their year. It was remarkable – and a bit depressing – how much hotter he was than everyone else. He studied his fingernails. Even his nails were hot. He took a moment to relish the thought of his own epic hotness.

But it seemed like this train of thought had begun somewhere else…. Where had he been going with this…?

Oh, right. Gospel truths.

Two: This weed was really good.

He took a long, deep draw off of his hand-rolled joint and held the smoke as long as he could.

Three: Those two things were not mutually exclusive. No. Wait. They _were_ mutually exclusive. Or were they not? It seemed like there was a double negative there or something…. Oh, bloody hell, what he meant was that they didn’t necessarily go together. No one had to be high to appreciate his hotness. Especially not him.

He couldn’t remember what number he was on, but here was another one: He was really fucking horny.

Yes, even people of his preternatural hotness occasionally had dry spells.

Preternatural. That was a good one. Blaise liked words. He read the dictionary on the toilet and whatnot.

Somnambulism. That was another great word. He liked the way it felt on his tongue. He said it aloud to himself, adoring the deep rumble of his own voice.

_Somnambulism. Somnambulism. Somnambu—_

“I have no idea what you’re saying, but if you’re selling, I’m buying.”

He looked up, trying not to act startled. Lavender Brown. Her tits were spectacular. She was wearing a tight, low-cut, pink jumper with one word written across it in scrolling lettering: LICK. And that’s what he did to his lips. He suddenly realized he had some serious cotton mouth. He should have brought his flask.

His brain tried to catch up. Selling… buying….

“Talk to Finnegan,” he replied at last. “He had a whole QP on Saturday.”

“That’s not what I’m interested in buying,” she purred. Yes, purred. She strode over next to him, leaning against the wall of the alcove, shivering in the cold. Her nipples were at full attention, and she knew exactly what she was doing, crossing her arms like that.

Ah yes. Cleavage.

Blaise didn’t care what anyone said. He fucking loved Gryffindors. Brave, his arse. Shameless, that’s what they were. Kinky, too, in his experience.

She was looking at him expectantly. Had she asked him a question? He couldn’t remember.

“Though I’ll take a toke, if you’re offering,” she said with a pointed look.

“Of course,” he replied in his suavest voice, handing her the joint. He wasn’t used to having company during these evening constitutionals, but what the hell?

She made a show of inhaling. Then she started coughing uncontrollably.

Blaise snatched the joint back from her, heart racing and eyes darting around. This was it. They were going to get caught, and everyone at Hogwarts was going to know he was a secret stoner. And everyone would find out about his secret hiding place. Speaking of that… how the hell had she found him? All he needed was for someone to walk by and hear her hacking up a lung. 

“All right?” he asked, maybe a bit frantically.

She nodded in an exaggerated way, holding her breath for a moment before letting it out slowly. Then her eyes got a little glassy, and she gave him a lopsided smile.

He chuckled. Merlin, he was baked.

“Here, try it like this.” He turned the joint around and put the lit end in his mouth. 

She caught on immediately, standing on her tiptoes, and he leaned down, gently blowing smoke through the joint and against her lips.

She sucked it in.

Nice.

Ouch. Almost burned his tongue.

He turned it around and took another toke himself, studying her closely. He tasted strawberry… something on the paper. He suddenly wondered what the hell she was doing here.

“Zabini,” she whispered seriously. Then she broke down into a fit of giggles. He enjoyed the way it made her tits jiggle. 

“Yes?” he prodded mellifluously.

She blushed. “I hear you aim to please.”

He sighed. He really owed Daphne Greengrass a debt of gratitude for that one. He’d spent the better part of fifth year with his face between her legs, and she had predictably run her mouth about it to anyone who would listen. Ah, how he missed Daphne and her loose… tongue. Instead of returning for eighth year, she had married some rich pureblood Quidditch player or something – Blaise really couldn’t be bothered to keep track.

“What?” he asked. He forgot what they were talking about again.

She was bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Are you really that high?”

He pulled out his wand and carefully extinguished the joint. “That’s a good question,” he said with a short laugh.

Because, really, he was pretty stoned. Too stoned, maybe, for this conversation that he was not quite having. He didn't get high often, so when he did, it was intense.

Without warning, she lifted her hands and placed them on his hips. Whoa. Like he said – shameless. And she looked up at him through her eyelashes. He thought it might be silly to ask what she was doing.

But it was never silly to ask a woman what she wanted.

“Exactly what do you want, Brown?”

“I want you to kiss me,” she said, a little breathlessly.

He licked his lips. Yeah, okay. He could do that. That might be fun. 

He slowly threaded his fingers into her hair, and damn. It felt like silk. She took care of herself. Her tongue darted out and moistened her lips – pointless action, really. Her lips glistened with that strawberry-tasting product. She tilted her head back. Her eyes fluttered closed.

And he laughed. He couldn’t help it. Definitely too stoned for this. Yeah, he was horny, but suddenly she looked so… obvious.

Her eyes snapped open, angry and questioning.

“Shh,” he whispered before she could yell at him, his face turning serious. He rubbed circles on her jaw with his thumb, enjoying the way her lips parted invitingly. He moved his thumb, dragging it across her lower lip.

She made a sound in the back of her throat.

He wondered….

He slid this thumb between her lips, and holy fucking hell. She closed her lips around it and sucked. He bit back a moan.

“Brown,” he whispered, swallowing.

Her mouth let go of his thumb. “Yes?” Her voice had a teasing quality to it.

“I think….”

He leaned in, his lips close to her ear.

“What?” she panted. “What do you think?”

“I think….”

He pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear.

“…that I would like…”

“What?”

He hummed low in his throat.

“…to make you…”

He paused.

“… _work for it._ ”

He pulled back, relishing the look on her face. Surprise. A flash of anger. Then a stubborn set to her jaw, which hinted at very good things to come. 

He untangled his hand from her hair and lifted her hand to his lips before he walked away.

It was so, so good to be Blaise Zabini.

* * *

_Thursday 28 January  
5:23pm_

By Thursday evening, Hermione was back in N.E.W.T. mode and effectively pushing thoughts of Malfoy's hands to the background. She would return to that line of thought when she had time. Maybe. She still had plenty of time until Valentine's Day.

She had eaten dinner as fast as she could and then returned to the greenhouse to double check that she had correctly sketched and labeled her Alihotsy shrub. This led to an unexpected run-in with a stray batch of Devil's Snare, which resulted in even wilder hair than usual and a healthy splattering of dirt on her work robes. She could have used a cleaning charm, but who was she going to run into on the way from the greenhouse to the dorm?

She should have guessed that the answer to that question would be a smirking Malfoy. As it happened, she nearly knocked him down rounding a corner.

“Oi!” he said, throwing out one hand to keep them from colliding. Then he took in her appearance, and of course he had to comment. “You know, Granger, just because you’re a war heroine, that’s no reason to let yourself go.”

She almost let him get a rise out of her. In fact, she already had a few choice words on the tip of her tongue. But when she looked up at him, her aggravation vanished.

It was probably just stress. With a stack of suggested reading staring her down, she found that, for once, she might enjoy a brief distraction in the form of Malfoy's hands. Lips, rather. 'Lips' and 'tongue' were the key words here. 'Brief' was the other key word.

Maybe it was the way the light was catching his hair.

No, no, that couldn't be it.

It must be some unconscious attempt to prove Pansy Parkinson wrong. Hermione was not a prude, and yes, it was just a kiss. Just a bit of fun. She did know how to have fun.

She would never know the exact reason, but at that moment, she opened her mouth and heard a stranger’s voice pop the question: "Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday?"

All right, so maybe part of her asked the question simply because she wanted to see Malfoy's reaction. And frankly, his reaction disappointed her. She expected shock, but she didn’t get it. So she waited for suspicion, but that never came, either. Disgust? Surprisingly, there was none. He just stared at her blankly. 

"Malfoy?” She narrowed her eyes and gave him one last chance to show some type of emotion, and then she shrugged and turned to walk away.

“Hang on.”

What a contrary git. Of course he would wait until the very moment she’d given up and then expect her to turn back around and face him. 

“I knew you were checking me out.”

She could hear the smirk in his voice. She spun on her heel to face him, crossing her arms. "So what do you say then?" she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Exactly _what_ ,” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly, “do you want to do in Hogsmeade?”

She hadn't thought that far ahead. She wasn't really expecting him to consider it. “I suppose we could get a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks,” she replied. God, that sounded lame. And entirely unbelievable.

“Together.” It was obviously meant to be a question, but it didn’t come out that way.

She studied him carefully, and ah yes. There it was – the tiniest hint of amusement on his face. Great. He was making fun of her. “Yes,” she said with a huff, refusing to back down now, no matter how ridiculous the proposition. “Together.”

He crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “Is this a joke?”

Hermione bit her lip. “No, it’s not a joke.” Technically, it was a competition. 

“Dragon shite. You don’t want to be seen in public with me anymore than I want to be seen with you.”

She sighed. It was hard for her to argue or be offended when he made such a valid point. If nothing else, she wouldn’t be eager to explain such a situation to Ron. Maybe their relationship hadn’t worked out as they thought it would, but she wouldn’t have wanted to see Ron hanging out with Pansy Parkinson. It was a matter of principle. 

His face relaxed slightly. “You’re up to something,” he said, and if anything, he sounded impressed.

“Why would you think I'm up to something?” she asked. She was the worst actress ever, and this was so bad.

His head jerked at that. "Let me get this straight," he said. "And believe me when I say that I am keenly aware of the absurdity of what I’m about to ask, so by all means correct me if I’m mistaken—"

She waited.

"—but are you asking me out… on a _date_?" He looked like it caused him pain to say the word.

And it sounded even stranger coming from Malfoy than it had in her own mind. She bit her lip. "Maybe."

His demeanor changed abruptly. He slipped his hands in his pockets, and his gaze freely traveled over the length of her body. Not that there was much for him to assess, what with her voluminous, dirt-stained work robes hiding anything that might remotely resemble a curve. 

Wait a minute. Did she just regret the fact that Malfoy could not properly check her out in her current attire? No, she was just feeling self-conscious. That's all.

But he must have liked something he saw. Or, more likely, he liked that she was interested. He leered at her. "Then why wait for Hogsmeade?" he suggested. "Meet me in the Astronomy Tower tomorrow night."

"What?!" 

Oh. Whoa. That was… not what she had in mind at all. Students – especially eighth years – only went there for two things, and one of them did not typically involve the use of telescopes.

"What's the matter? Scared?"

Of being alone with Malfoy in the Astronomy Tower? The thought didn’t make her feel warm and fuzzy. Well, not entirely. "Of course not."

He took one step closer to her, and she felt her back straighten in response.

"I only have one condition," he said, dropping his voice to a purr.

"Look, I’m not going to spend three hours on my hair," Hermione snapped, hoping that was what he meant. 

He took another step towards her.

"Or wear lipstick, either!" she added for good measure, though she was not opposed to a subtle lip gloss every now and then for moisturizing purposes.

He shook his head slightly. "I expect date-like activities."

"What?" She refused to back away from him, and she adamantly refused to acknowledge the spark that ignited in her belly at that thought.

"Perhaps it’s stupid of me to ask this of someone who’s had her nose buried in a book for the past eight years," he said, as though she were putting him out, "but you do know what happens on a date, right?"

Her back shot up. "Not on first dates."

His head jerked again, and now he was smiling. "So you want more than one?"

That's it. She would take her chances with Pansy's curse. "I don't know what I was thinking," she mumbled, turning to go. "Forget it."

His hand shot out and grabbed her by her upper arm, spinning her back around. "Not so fast." Hermione gasped, looking down to where his fingers curled around her arm, a moment before he let go. "I'm willing to negotiate," he drawled. "Just this once."

She wet her lips. "Negotiate what?"

They seemed to be getting closer to the wall. Or rather, she was. Malfoy was getting closer to her. "I'll let you off with a kiss."

Actually, this was better than she could have hoped for. By the end of tomorrow night, she'd have the kiss, and this whole nightmare would be over. But it was best if she didn't act like an easy sell. "And what do I get out of this?" she asked.

He paused, giving her that blank look again. "What do you… unbelievable. You get a kiss, Granger." His hand rose, palm pressing against the wall beside her. "You might like it, you know."

She had a lot riding on the hopes that she wouldn't. "Fine," she said, acting as though it were a huge concession on her part. "One kiss. What time then?" 

"Eight thirty," he replied. "That’s not past your bedtime is it?"

She rolled her eyes. "I think I can make an exception.” It did cut into her library time, but it was worth the sacrifice if it meant she would never have to worry about that list again.

Then he leaned so close that she had to raise her chin to look him in the eyes. The grey of his irises looked almost transparent in the torchlight. "Ah, Granger," he whispered to her, his tongue tracing his lower lip. "We are going to have so much fun."


	3. I look at your pants, and I need a kiss

_Friday 29 January  
7:09pm_

"…couldn't be right, and I believe that's why these particular Alihotsy plants have withered leaves on the lower limbs. In an ideal situation, you'd want to use a combination of dragon dung and powdered kestrel bone…"

It made as much sense as Gobbledegook to Pansy. But it gave her time to look at Neville's lips. They were nice lips. It was a good thing he had nice lips, too, because she didn't make a habit of hanging around the greenhouses outside of class. 

"…what leading herbologists say in _Planting and Pruning Persnickety Perennials_ – but that one's not in the Hogwarts library …"

He sounded so authoritative when he was talking about plants. It was kind of hot. And he was actually rather good-looking, now that she took a moment to study him carefully. He definitely had pureblood bone structure, as her Aunt Patricia would call it.

Pansy was going to annihilate Granger and Brown. She just knew it.

She was concerned about some of the list items, though. The bondage thing was obviously a sick joke. Brown loved to be shocking. And Pansy would not be giving Neville Longbottom – or any boy, for that matter – a blow job because _gross_. The fingering one was also disconcerting. She was glad they had thought to list it separately from general beneath-knickers touching. 

"…bone maintains a more desirable soil texture. But it's quite expensive, and you can't always get your hands on it…'

His hands were busy scooping compost from a big bucket and arranging it gingerly around the trunks of the Alihotsy shrubs.

"You have nice hands." She gasped. She hadn't meant to say that aloud.

He jerked, and the bucket tipped over the edge of the table, sending compost everywhere. "I have… what?"

"Your hands," she mumbled. She flicked her wand, righting the bucket and compost. She could feel her face burning. "They're nice."

"Oh." He was still absently holding the scoop in his hand, at an angle that made a bit of compost slide off the end. "Er."

Pansy cleared her throat and studied her fingernails, hoping that her hair covered most of her reddened cheeks. "Normally I don't care for dirt," she said in the most supercilious tone she could manage. When he didn't say anything, she chanced a glance up at him. He was blushing, too. She softened a bit. "But it looks good on you."

"Well. I mean, I don't. Er. What are you doing?"

Encouraged by his blush, she jerked the scoop out of his grip and took his hand in hers. She didn't answer him; she just wiped the compost off the back of back of his hand. Then she turned his hand over, studying it.

"You have big fingers," she noted aloud. "But you're good with them. I mean – when you're not knocking things over or dropping things." She talked to his hand rather than his face. It was easier that way. "You're good with these plants."

He was silent. She twined their fingers together, suddenly not caring at all about the dirt. His hand practically swallowed hers, and it made her feel girly. 

"That feels nice," he said in a quiet voice. She had expected stuttering or objection from him. He surprised her.

"It does, doesn't it?" She marveled at it herself – the way their fingers fit together. She chanced a look up at him. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was hanging open slightly. "Neville?"

His tongue darted out over lips. "Yeah?"

She took a deep breath. She could do this. "I want you to kiss me."

"What?!" He jerked his hand away and stumbled slightly.

"On the lips," she continued doggedly, grabbing his arm to steady him. "And you have to use your tongue, too."

"I do?" She only thought he was blushing before. Now everything above his collar was bright red – face, neck, ears. "But I don't…."

She could see this was going to take a firmer hand, so she grabbed the front of his robes, twisting them in her fist, which promptly silenced him. "Just one kiss," she demanded.

He didn't do it right away, but at least his protests died out. He leaned down a bit. Paused. Leaned down a bit more. Paused again. Then seemed to think better of it, his head jerking back to its original position.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" she exclaimed, and she used her grip on his robes to pull him down, crushing her lips against his. He squeaked through his nose. 

But then he _moaned_.

Pansy had not been expecting that. She also did not expect him to raise his hand and cradle the back of her head, but he did. And she certainly didn't expect him to open his lips and gently tease her tongue with his… and then gradually build the rhythm and the pressure of the kiss until she found herself threading her fingers desperately into his hair… and pulling back a little bit, only to deepen the kiss again a moment later….

But he did.

And she shoved him away, panting heavily.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "I didn't mean…. You… you said to use my tongue, right?"

Pansy stared at him, speechless. Then she grabbed him by the robes and pulled him right back in again.

* * *

_Friday 29 January  
8:39pm_

Hermione paced around the small circular chamber. Malfoy was ten minutes late. She hoped he wouldn’t show. And she really couldn’t figure out what she was still doing here, waiting for him.

This was really happening. She shivered. Assuming he showed up, she was going to kiss Draco Malfoy tonight. With tongue. She had not been able to think about anything else, and by this point, she had mentally gone through every possible scenario and outcome.

Most likely, he wouldn’t show up. Or maybe he would show up, only to taunt and poke fun at her. She felt that was probable. Maybe – and this was the best scenario – he would stumble into some heretofore-unknown corridor on his way to the Astronomy Tower and disappear. Maybe this had already happened, and that’s why he had yet to arrive. She could only hope.

She definitely didn’t want to think about the other maybes, but they had haunted her all day. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she would like it. Maybe he would be good at it. Maybe it would feel nice to bury her fingers in his hair and feel his lips against hers….

It was at this thought, of course, that he opened the door and caught her mid-pace. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to think about how aesthetically pleasing he was. In an alternate world, and with an alternate person inside his skin, he would have been irresistible. It was the hair, mostly. It just brushed his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends.

She opened her eyes, and her gaze went straight to his lips. “I suppose it would have killed you to be on time,” she snapped, tapping her foot impatiently. 

He closed the door and muttered a locking spell. She would have used something stronger, but she supposed it was enough to keep intruders out. Then he slid his wand back into his pocket and crossed his arms. And ah yes – there was the trademark smirk.

“Did you think I was going to stand you up?” he asked.

She crossed her arms as well. “I was starting to hope you might.”

“No, you weren’t.”

She glared at him. He dropped his hands and started walking forward, and she froze. She didn’t want to back away, but she didn’t want him to come any closer, either. Not yet. And then the haughty bastard started loosening his necktie. She couldn’t help watching his long fingers work on that piece of fabric.

“You’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She was proud of the sharp tone of voice she managed – and even prouder when she managed to lift her gaze to meet his. 

He shrugged. “I have.”

He was circling her now, and she moved with him. But somehow, he kept getting closer. “Have what?” she asked.

“I've been thinking about this all day.” He had to be lying. Or maybe not. He had an unsettling look in his eyes – like he thought he had something to prove. “Well, not the actual date. In fact, I'd like to skip right over that part if it's all the same to you.”

He started to lift his hand, and Hermione panicked, jumping away from him. “Whoa!” she said, more loudly than she had intended. She held her palms out. “If you think I’m just going to kiss you…” She trailed off, watching his hand until he lowered it.

He crossed his arms again. “So what did _you_ want to do? _Talk_?” The last word dripped with sarcasm.

“It wouldn’t kill us, would it?” Talking was good. Talking meant delaying the inevitable. She was going to have to kiss him – not because of the stupid deal she made with him, but because of the stupid curse that Pansy put on the checklists. But she would like to put it off as long as possible, and honestly, this had been the wrong way to go about it. She could see that now.

“All right,” he drawled, clearly humoring her. “What do you want to talk about?”

"Er…" What on earth was she supposed to talk about with Malfoy? "So. The, er… Ravenclaw - Slytherin match last week. That was something." All boys liked to talk about Quidditch, right? And Slytherin had won. He would probably like the opportunity to gloat, even if he couldn't play on the team anymore as an eighth year.

"Ah yes," he said, tapping his finger to his lips. "What was the score again on that one?"

She had no clue. And he was doing it again. Circling her. "The important thing," she said knowingly, "is that Ravenclaw will not be progressing to the final." There. She remembered Harry muttering something about how Gryffindor had a better chance against Slytherin in the final, what with so-and-so on the bludgers or something. Okay, so Quidditch bored her to tears.

"Uh-huh." He was stepping forward now, and she wanted to stand her ground. She really did. But if he got any closer, her breasts were going to brush his chest. "Are we done talking yet?"

Hermione retreated at last, and her back hit the wall. She doubted that an attempt to discuss the upcoming N.E.W.T.s would go any better. All right, she would stop pretending. She could deal with this. It would be over soon. In fact, the sooner the better.

Malfoy reached up and placed his palm against the wall by her head. He placed the other one by her shoulder, caging her in. She noticed how tall he had become – long and lean, but still graceful. The air in the room suddenly seemed to get thinner, maybe because he was standing close enough to use some of hers.

"Tell me what you’re up to." He spoke to her as though she were a naughty child.

What she tried to say was: _I created this silly game to shut Lavender and Pansy up, and I picked you because I didn't really want to play, and I definitely didn't want to win, although I admit that there might have been some subconscious lust behind the choice, so it's a good thing we hate each other, and it's a good thing I have so much self-control. Please remind me that you hate me._

What came out was: "Nothing." 

"Liar." One word and a smirk. He made it look like an art. "I’m going to find out, you know." And then he leaned down a little further so that they were eye to eye. "One way or another."

This was definitely the closest she had ever been to Draco Malfoy. She could smell him – not any particular scent, just him, and she was annoyed to realize that she liked the way he smelled. "There’s nothing to find out."

He shifted his weight slightly. "Then you have nothing to worry about."

"I’m not worried." His lips were close. Part of her hoped that he would just attack her mouth with his right then, all teeth and tongue, and it would be the worst kiss ever, and she would be done. "But I think I’m ready for this date to be over now."

"You're ready, are you?" He put the emphasis on the _ready_ , and as though on command, she felt herself getting wet.

"Fine," she gritted. "Do it and get it over with."

"Get it over with?" He laughed. "All right. But only if you promise not to enjoy it."

She averted her eyes. "That shouldn’t be a problem." Then it occurred to her that she might have averted her eyes because that was a lie. Apparently, it occurred to him, as well. From the corner of her eye, she could see his smile widen.

"So you promise?" he asked.

She squared her jaw and forced herself to look him directly in the eyes. "I promise you will have no effect on me whatsoever."

"Perfect," he whispered. "We wouldn’t want that." He paused. "Close your eyes."

She obeyed. She told herself it would be easier this way. And then she waited.

And she waited.

And with her eyes closed, she could more distinctly feel his nearness. His warmth. His breath. She felt his finger under her chin, lifting her face. She licked her lips. And then, just as she was expecting his kiss, she felt his lips brush against her neck, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

In fact, she cried out. And she opened her eyes. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"What?" he asked innocently. "There's no rule that says I have to start with your lips, is there?"

She could hear her heart thundering in her ears. By that logic, he could kiss her anywhere. And instead of feeling fear or dread, she felt her abdomen begin to throb. She felt herself clench, right between her legs, in anticipation. She stared at his lips, wondering where he might attack next.

"Close your eyes," he insisted.

And again, like a fool, she obeyed.

"And remember, Granger," he whispered, his lips brushing her jaw, "you are not, by any means, allowed to enjoy yourself."

She nodded slightly. She wasn't allowed. He wasn't allowing her. There was some condescension there, but whatever. It worked for her.

His next kiss came on her jaw, right near her ear. He inhaled deeply. Then he pulled her earlobe between his wet lips, and it felt so good that she allowed a strange sound to escape her throat. 

But she refused to enjoy herself.

Next he kissed her cheek, right beside her nose. She registered the touch of his fingers against her scalp as he slipped them into her hair. He was moving in for the kill. She could feel it. His other hand wrapped around the back of her neck. It wouldn’t be long, and this would be over with. That's what she wanted. 

He kissed the corner of her mouth, and she fought back a whimper. It would be any moment now.

"You're not enjoying yourself, right?" She felt his question against her lips.

"Not at all." Their lips brushed ever so slightly.

"Good. Just checking."

Just as she was sure that he would press his lips to hers, he used his grip on her hair to gently pull her head back, and she didn't know why, but she let him.

He fastened his lips onto her neck, right in the sensitive spot where it met her shoulder, and he sucked. Softly. This shouldn't be happening. She lifted her hands to push him away, but somehow, she just ended up with fistfuls of his shirt. And when she latched onto the fabric, Malfoy released the most delicious moan.

She didn't think she had ever heard such an erotic sound. It was entirely unguarded. Spontaneous. It was pure, and she had never expected to hear a sound like that come from Malfoy.

And her neck… she couldn't think of any expletive that would properly express how very good his mouth felt on her neck. Actually, she could think of one, and the word lingered on the edge of her mind.

He left a trail of wet kisses all over her neck. He stopped occasionally on some particularly tender spot to lick or to suck, but that was fine. Surely he would be making his way back to her lips at any minute. It couldn't hurt to continue like this just a little bit longer.

She wasn't _really_ enjoying herself.

Then he pressed his knee between her thighs, and she moaned at the friction. And this had nothing to do with kissing, granted, but she could let it go. Just for now. She slipped her hands into his hair, and she gave in, grinding herself against his proffered leg, letting all of that ticklish need take over for just a minute.

"Careful there, Granger," he whispered against… her breasts? When did he get to her breasts? This was going too far, and she really would stop him very soon, but wait…. What on earth was he doing? He was using the tip of his nose to urge her nipple into a hard peak through her clothes, and then he closed his lips over it, and the wetness of his tongue seeped through both her shirt and her bra.

She felt shudders run through her whole body at the sensation. Everything was getting wet – her neck, her shirt, her knickers. And it felt wrong. It felt dirty. And the dirtier it felt, the hotter she became. Then – this couldn't really be happening – he lifted her, giving her no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist. And Malfoy was definitely enjoying himself. He was rock hard beneath his trousers, and as soon as he was between her legs, he let out another one of those low moans.

Hermione's head fell back against the stone wall, and she gritted her teeth. His mouth went to her ear again, his nose nuzzling stray hair out of the way. "Granger, I thought I told you," he whispered, thrusting against her, "not to enjoy yourself." He was unmistakably simulating sex, and now he almost seemed to be _punishing_ her. His thrusts became hard, each one shooting shocks of pleasure through her body. She could feel the base of her spine being rammed into the wall behind her, the pain nothing compared to the relief she was getting as he rubbed against her.

Okay, _now_ she was officially enjoying herself.

"Malfoy." She panted, making the syllables of his name into two separate words. "You have to—" The _stop_ just wouldn't come out.

"I have to what?" She felt his teeth scrape against her neck. "What do I have to do? This?" He popped a button on her shirt.

"Malfoy. _Stop._ "

He released a heavy sigh, but he did stop, and slowly he eased her down until she was standing again, her legs wobbly. Her pelvis was throbbing with need. She tried to rein it in – tried not to thrust against him just one more time.

She opened her eyes, and he was staring down at her, his lips swollen, hair disheveled. His eyelids drooped heavily. His chest was heaving. It was surreal to see Malfoy looking like that. He was clearly as affected as she was. Despite that fact – or maybe because of it – he released a light chuckle.

Infuriated, she shoved him away and turned to the door, pulling at the doorknob with both hands, completely forgetting it was locked. She cursed under her breath and pulled out her wand. It took her two attempts to work a simple _Alohomora_. When the lock finally clicked, she threw the door open with all of her might.

And she bolted down the staircase outside, not once looking back.

* * *

_Friday 29 January  
9:07pm_

Hermione stormed through the corridors, insane with fury. She couldn't believe she had let things go that far. What the hell was Malfoy’s problem? What normal person skipped a first kiss and went straight to necking and grinding?

She ignored the voice that said a normal person might have recognized the abnormality of this behavior before they found themselves mid-grind. And grinding back.

No. There was nothing wrong with her. Malfoy was undeniably the culprit here. If nothing else, he should not be able to move his hips like that. There should be some sort of law against it. And the sounds he made, and the things he said.... She felt her entire body throb at the memory….

Okay, when did she turn around and start walking back in the direction of the Astronomy Tower? Wrong way! She had to get back to her room. To her bed. Not that she ever expected to sleep again, but she couldn’t risk running into him again tonight.

She picked up her pace. She couldn’t imagine what she must look like. Her clothes were rumpled. Her neck was hot and sticky, and she could still practically feel Malfoy’s lips right there at the junction of her neck and her shoulder. Her hair was… probably downright hopeless. She hoped Harry and Ron were not in the common room. How on earth would she explain her appearance? Or where she had been, without any books?

She had really not thought any of this through properly. The task had been so simple: Get to the Astronomy Tower, get the kiss, and get on with her life. Never, in her wildest dreams had she expected to have Draco Malfoy between her legs tonight. His mouth on her breasts. His hips thrusting against her. In spite of herself, she whimpered.

She was going to have to masturbate tonight. Over Malfoy. That’s all there was to it. She didn’t like it one bit, but it was the only way she was going to get any peace. She was so worked up that she thought it might only take a few strokes.

In that gracious way that the universe has of not overburdening humans in their times of weakness, she made it through the common room without seeing Harry or Ron. She quickly washed her face, brushed her teeth, pulled her hangings closed on her four-poster bed, cast a Silencing Charm, and proceeded to get herself off in about forty-five seconds.

She even managed to get some sleep, though she didn’t realize it until she jolted wide awake the next morning at five-thirty – with her body aching again. Ridiculous! She grudgingly took care of it. All right, so it wasn’t as bothersome as it was inconvenient. This time it took about five minutes, but there was no hope of going back to sleep, so she crawled out of bed and dragged herself to the loo.

And stopped in front of the mirror, mouth gaping.

Her neck was covered in love bites.

She scrambled for her wand and cast as many Concealment Charms as she could remember. How dare he mark her like that! Unbelievable. She had managed to cross off — she mentally counted — _three of thirteen_ list items in one night. Maybe four. And she couldn’t even get a simple kiss.

Well. She was going to take care of that as soon as possible.

This turned out to be more difficult than she anticipated. It was Saturday, and there were no classes, so he could be anywhere at any time. She figured the best plan of action was to sit in the common room all day long. He was bound to show up there at some point during the day, and she needed to spend the morning working on her essays for Herbology and Potions, anyway. The only problem, she realized, would be getting him alone once she saw him.

She did slip out for breakfast around eight-thirty, but he was not in the Great Hall. She checked the Owlery after breakfast. No Malfoy. She checked the greenhouses. No Malfoy. She even checked various rooms and corridors off of the Astronomy Tower. No Malfoy, but she did accidentally interrupt a pair of younger students, who looked horrified to have been caught but then relieved that she wasn’t a prefect.

She was headed back to the dormitory to continue her more passive form of stalking when she ran into Blaise Zabini in the fifth floor corridor. He appeared to be waiting for someone, though it was hard to tell with Zabini. He spent a great deal of his time lolling about with little urgency or purpose. Hermione wondered if Lavender was having any better luck with her list.

She realized that she could ask Zabini where Malfoy was, if she could figure out a way to do it casually.

“Zabini,” she greeted him.

“Granger,” he returned with a slight nod.

“Are you…” She lifted one eyebrow. “…standing here for any particular reason?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” In typical Slytherin fashion, his face told her nothing.

She stared, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t, and she began to find the silence uncomfortable.

“Is it something I can help you with?” she prodded.

“I doubt you would want to,” he replied. The faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips.

“Does it have anything to do with that empty classroom behind you?”

“Yes, it does.”

“And does it—“

“Granger, you are, unequivocally, the nosiest person I have ever met.”

Somehow, he made it sound like a compliment. It felt good to be unequivocal. Hermione liked to think she was a fairly straightforward person. She found herself smiling.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” she said.

“And what are _you_ doing on this part of the fifth floor corridor on a Saturday morning?” he asked.

“Well, actually….” _Casual_ , she reminded herself, studying her fingernails. “Malfoy swiped a book right out from under me in the library the other night. I’m trying to find him and get it back.”

She hoped her face didn’t scream “Liar!” as much as her voice did, but Zabini was fully smirking now.

“Try the dungeons.”

“Really?”

“You know that empty classroom next to the painting of the bloodied axes?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Yes.”

“He likes to practice transfiguration there on the weekends.”

For a moment, she thought Zabini might be putting her on or trying to get rid of her. It was hard to imagine Malfoy practicing anything – other than maybe his smirk or his insults or the perfect fall of his hair across his cheek. But she supposed it was worth a shot.

“All right, thanks,” she said with a shrug, turning to walk away.

“Good luck getting that _book_ ,” he called after her with a chuckle.

* * *

_Saturday 30 January  
9:51am_

Hermione stood outside the dungeon classroom for a while, peeking in through the narrow window in the door. Malfoy was, indeed, practicing Transfiguration. And he was _good_. She had seen his work in class this year, of course, but it was nothing like this.

She watched as he conjured a metal birdbath out of nowhere. Then, with a series of elaborate wrist movements, he transfigured it into a garden gate with intricate metal latticework and fleur-de-lis motifs. Next he shrank it into a bench with the same motifs. Then, with a slow, fluid movement, the bench morphed, towering over his head, forming a bronze water fountain in the shape of a serpent, covered with fine scales. With a quick _Aguamenti_ , water flowed from the serpents’ fangs. He flicked his wrist again, and it became an oversize urn with an egg-and-dart motif, the spilled water spouting neatly into the top.

It wasn’t necessarily his Transfiguration skills that impressed her. It was his attention to detail. When it came down to it, a witch or wizard could only ever be as good as his or her imagination allowed. Malfoy had an inventive flair that Hermione found lacking in herself. His creativity had been annoying when they were younger – the “Potter Stinks” badges came to mind – but she never would have guessed he could put it to work making something beautiful.

For a moment, she felt that she was intruding on him – like she was watching something that he would not show to just anyone. And at that very moment, as though he could hear her thoughts, he whipped towards the door with his eyes narrowed.

She jumped, but he merely ignored her, turning back to his work. And though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing or how she expected this to play out, she found herself opening the door and entering the classroom.

Malfoy continued, the urn morphing into a two-seater swing, his wrist working almost lazily. The railings appeared strong. The armrests were covered in dainty leaf motifs, and with a final flick, a green and silver canopy covered the top. He paused for a minute and then added matching cushions.

All right, now he was just showing off.

He turned to face her, twirling his wand and letting his gaze rake over her body. "Back for more already, Granger?"

She refused to rise to his baiting, even though she found herself slightly breathless at the thought. “I see you've been busy with that book on metal transfiguration," she said, nodding at his swing.

He shrugged. "Nothing to it." Then he sauntered over to it and took a seat on one end, leaving the other seat wide open. “Care to give it a go, then?” he suggested with another one of those leers.

She pressed her eyes closed tightly and took a deep breath, fighting the images that sprang into her mind at his words. She had to get that kiss. Immediately. 

When she opened her eyes, he was smirking. Of course he was smirking. "I won't bite," he added.

She glared at him. "I have three marks on my neck that say otherwise."

"I don't see any marks." He strained his neck theatrically, as though looking for them.

"Like I'm going to walk around showing them to the whole school!"

"I'm the injured party here, Granger," he claimed, placing a palm against his chest. "You're the one who broke your promise."

"My promise?"

He gave her an expectant look. Oh. Right. Her promise not to enjoy herself. She huffed loudly, and he chuckled. "That took you long enough,” he said.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. It was disorienting, simultaneously feeling such annoyance and such – it pained her to admit it – attraction. She looked up cautiously. He had his arm stretched over the back of the swing and one leg crossed, ankle over knee, and he looked almost bored, as though it didn’t really matter to him if she took a seat or not.

“And you think that thing can hold two people?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

For a moment he looked affronted – exactly what she had been hoping for – but then he quickly recovered, picking at an imaginary spot on his trousers. “I daresay it could hold three.”

She sighed. What could it hurt? She stepped over to the swing and rigidly sat down on the other side, careful to put some distance between them. He looked over at her with a small smile and kicked off, putting them into motion so abruptly that she had to grab at the armrest to steady herself.

“Nice, eh?” he asked, entirely unconcerned about nearly dumping her into the floor.

"It's not bad," she bit out. And it wasn't bad at all. It was lulling. Back and forth they went, a slight breeze playing at her hair. She closed her eyes. The air felt like a caress against her face and neck. She let herself settle into the motion of the swing. Her body moved with it, her shoulders relaxing, her hips rocking.

She snapped her head around, glaring at him. 

“So what are you up to?” he asked, one eyebrow raised knowingly.

“What are you talking about?” she replied defensively.

She wanted to avoid his eye, but she couldn’t, and when she looked at him, the expression on his face clearly said _not born yesterday_. From nowhere, anger enflamed her. “Why couldn’t you have just kissed me and been done with it?” she asked. Shouted almost.

“Been done with it?” he repeated, his voice silky. “It didn’t seem like you wanted to be done with anything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

Then the infuriating bastard dropped his gaze to her breasts. “You couldn’t get enough,” he taunted her. “I just wanted to give you one little mark—“

“Totally inappropriate!” she exclaimed. She couldn’t figure out which was worse: the fact that he had wanted to mark her, or the fact that he boldly admitted it.

He dug his heels into the floor, slamming them to a halt. “You started moaning,” he pointed out.

“I was not moaning!” she insisted. Her voice kept rising, but she couldn't help it.

“Yes, you were.” His voice rose a bit, too.

“Was not!” She realized that she was breathing heavily. “You were the one who was moaning.”

Suddenly he looked like she had accused him of the most heinous crime imaginable. “Well, it was hard not to, when you were grabbing at my shirt like you wanted to rip it off!”

She made a sound almost like a high-pitched bark. “As if! You were…” She paused, trying to figure out how to put it delicately, and then realizing that they were beyond delicate here. “…thrusting against me!”

“I was thrusting against _you_?” he spat back, incredulous. Color started rising in his cheeks. “You were rubbing yourself against me like a cat in heat!”

“Not fair!”

“You were panting for it!” His gaze flew over her, his pale skin fully flushed now, and his hand gripped the back of the swing near her shoulder, his knuckles white. “What did you expect me to do? You were practically _begging_ for it, and I just wanted to—“

“What?” she demanded. “What did you want to do?”

“ _Miss Granger_.”

Both of their heads whipped around to face the door. There stood Professor Snape, looking torn between surprise and disgust.

“Mister Malfoy,” he added almost as a footnote. “Are the two of you aware that your voices are carrying all the way down the corridor to my office?”

Hermione felt her stomach give a lurch.

“And while I realize that eighth years have no lack of time on their hands, despite all the effort involved in avoiding real responsibility and ignoring that pesky call of adulthood—" he sneered “—some of us have actual jobs, which require our attention even on Saturday mornings.”

In a billow of robes, he left, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione wasted no time following him out the door.


	4. Things to lose, things to take

_Monday 1 February  
7:30am_

Draco spread a thick layer of strawberry jam on a piece of toast and chanced a glance across the Great Hall.

Now she was ignoring him. If anyone was supposed to do the ignoring, it was him. And why the sudden change? She hadn't been able to keep her eyes off of him a few days ago. Not that he could blame her for that. But that didn't make it any less unsettling.

He took a delicate bite out of his toast. It needed more jam. He could still taste bread. 

He could admit it. Granger had caught him totally off guard that night in the corridor. He could still hear her voice in his head: _Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?_ Hell no, he didn't want to go to Hogsmeade with her. Had she lost her mind? He had just stood there gaping, thinking Polyjuice was the only explanation.

Actually, it was still a good explanation. Draco's eyes shot around the hall. Who in this school wanted to humiliate him so badly that they would Polyjuice themselves into Hermione Granger and ask him out on a—

He couldn't do it. He couldn't say the d-word. It caused him physical pain.

No, no, Polyjuice didn't really make sense. She had definitely been checking him out before that night in the corridor. And despite the sheer absurdity of her proposition, she was still acting like Granger. It would be hard to accurately imitate all that self-righteous huffing and prudish posturing.

He dragged his spoon slowly over his tongue, licking off the excess jam. And it had definitely been posturing, that virginal maiden act and that ridiculous attempt at talking Quidditch. He shook his head. The things she had let him do to her….

It was happening again. He dropped both toast and spoon and stared at his plate. He was thinking about Granger and getting hard. Not cool. He had been so sure it was some sort of joke or trick. He hadn't really expected her to show. He knew why _he_ had gone. She was up to something, and he had been determined to push her into giving up the game. But the more he pushed, the louder she moaned and the more shamelessly she rubbed herself against him, and if she hadn't stopped him—

Someone slid into the seat next to him, and he jumped slightly. It was Blaise, pouring himself a cup of coffee and looking grumpy. He was not a morning person. Draco nodded at him, and he nodded back.

Draco shot another surreptitious glance across the hall and froze, watching in amazement as Pansy Parkinson strolled straight up to the Gryffindor table and plopped down beside Longbottom. And put her hand on his arm.

Draco thought he might be seeing things. He turned to look at Blaise and found Blaise paused with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth.

"Are you seeing what I’m seeing?" Draco asked.

"I do believe I am," Blaise drawled.

"What’s she playing at?" Draco wondered aloud, hoping he didn't sound like a jealous ex because that had nothing to do with it. He and Pansy had been happily not dating for over two years now. But he knew her, and this was not her.

Blaise finally took a small sip, put down his cup, and squinted at the Gryffindor table. "Good question. And I have a suspicion that she’s not the only one playing."

"What do you mean?"

Blaise glanced briefly at Draco and then made a small nod to where Granger and Brown now sat together, huddled over a piece of parchment. Brown put her hand over her mouth and appeared to be giggling. Granger looked shifty.

"They look chummy, don’t they?" Blaise noted.

"Not really," Draco answered. Actually, he thought Granger looked a little put out. The thought made him smile.

Blaise gave a small shrug. "Chummier than usual."

"Maybe." He took a sip of his own coffee and grimaced. It had gone cold while he was busy getting his sugar rush on. "It’s not like I keep tabs on who Granger’s hanging out with."

At that, Blaise turned and gave Draco a full smirk. "Of course not. Why would you?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. There was no way Blaise could know about his activities in the Astronomy Tower, and he fully intended to keep it that way.

"Not Weasley or Potter, though, is it?" Blaise pointed out.

Draco looked further down the table but did not see Potter or Weasley at all. He thought for a minute. "Aren’t Granger and Brown in one of Flitwick’s study groups together?" He was stuck in one himself, with Terry Boot and Ernie MacMillan. Thank Merlin it was only one hour a week.

"I believe they are." Blaise tapped his fingers on the table. "With Parkinson, if memory serves."

That deserved further consideration. But at that moment, Draco's attention was diverted, and he laughed, again not believing his eyes. "Did Lavender Brown just wave at you, Zabini?"

"What?" he spat, turning to look back at the Gryffindor table, where Brown had gotten up to leave and was undeniably fluttering her fingers in Blaise's direction. He looked horrified. "No. She must have been waving at—"

Blaise looked behind him, but the only person back there was a fourth year Hufflepuff with a straw up his nose.

"—someone else." He hid his face behind his hand.

"Interesting," Draco drawled. Very interesting indeed.

Blaise began buttering a piece of toast with more attention than it deserved. Draco thought it must be nice to have a skin tone that masked embarrassment so effectively.

"She’s not bad-looking," Blaise mumbled.

She wasn't gorgeous, either. Draco had always thought she looked a little sickly around the eyes. "You could do better."

"Of course I could," Blaise agreed. "But she does have a certain _je ne sais quoi_."

Draco chuckled. "You mean her tits?"

Blaise cleared his throat. "Yeah, that’s probably it."

* * *

_Monday 1 February  
8:11pm_

"So, you and Longbottom, eh?"

Draco was pleased to see Pansy jump when she rounded the corner on her way to the Prefect's bathroom. He thought she might still be using it, though he couldn't imagine how she'd gotten the password. Actually, he _could_ imagine it. Pansy liked her little luxuries and didn't mind securing them on exchange.

She stopped, hitching her bag more securely over her shoulder, and then crossed her arms. "I don't see how that's any of your business," she replied coolly.

Yeah, he knew it wasn't, and he had expected that. "You were hanging all over him at breakfast," he goaded her.

" _Dra_ co." Oh no, not the sing-song voice. "Why are you acting like a jealous boyfriend?"

He had expected that, too. He placed his palm on his chest. "I'm just looking out for you, Pans. People talk, you know."

"Indeed they do," she said, looking him up and down and then lifting one eyebrow. "Watch out, or they'll be talking about you and Granger next."

Finally. "Granger?" He gave her his best confused expression.

"You know, about this tall." She leveled her hand a few inches above her own head. "Frizzy hair. Atrocious taste in clothes. Usually covered in ink smudges—"

"Yes, I know who Granger is," he snapped. Really, Granger wasn't _that_ bad. "What does she have to do with anything?"

Pansy tapped her foot, squinting at him. A faint smile played at her lips. "You mean she hasn't asked you out yet?"

Draco strolled forward, hands in his pockets. Now they were getting somewhere. "And why would Granger ask me out?"

Pansy raised her eyebrows, gleeful. "That's what I wanted to know!" she exclaimed. Then, in her nastiest voice, she continued, "I assumed it was because she finds you totally repulsive."

Draco just stared at Pansy for a moment. First of all, that made no sense. Second… _Granger_ found _him_ repulsive? "And, naturally, the feeling is mutual," he sneered, once he had recovered. Tired of beating around the bush, he went on, "But that's beside the point, and this conversation is starting to bore me. I know you and Granger are up to something, so spill."

Pansy studied her nails pensively. "Who knows what Granger is up to?" Then, with a shrug, she looked back up. "As for me, I'm just trying to have a little fun."

Draco blinked. "With Longbottom."

"Why not?" Pansy asked, getting defensive. She raised her chin. "He comes from a respectable family. He's not bad-looking." Her voice took on a formal tone. "And I hear he's an excellent kisser."

Draco folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the wall very close to her. "Are you really that desperate for a kiss?" he drawled, letting his gaze roam freely.

She gave him an equally assessing look. "Not anymore." She smirked. "But I'm betting Granger is. In fact—" And here her smirk became a wicked grin. "—I made sure she would be."

She turned on her heel, prancing away, and Draco smiled after her. So Granger was out for a kiss. Something of Pansy's doing. He kicked off from the wall. He could work with that.

* * *

_Tuesday 2 February  
7:03pm_

"Lists first," Pansy demanded. "Charms later."

Hermione sighed. She had been afraid of this, but she knew there was no use putting up a fight. The sooner they got this nonsense out of the way, the sooner they could get on with their work.

Maybe she was also a little curious.

"I'll go first," Pansy said with relish. She pulled out her list with a flourish and tossed it on the table. "Read it and weep, ladies. Three out of thirteen."

Sure enough, three items were crossed out.

> _~~Kiss, with tongue  
>  Hands on bare breasts  
>  Basic nipple play~~ _

Lavender looked mildly surprised. "Not bad, Parkinson."

"Of course, I could have done much more," Pansy said airily. "But it took time to ask him out, didn’t it? It wasn't like I could just grab him and get to it."

Hermione snorted. "What are you talking about? You asked him out first thing Wednesday morning."

Lavender giggled. "She did?"

"You didn't see that little stunt she pulled in Herbology?" Hermione asked with a chuckle. Then she did her best Pansy imitation, with a little more nasal quality than necessary. " _Oh, Longbottom, I need help with my essay._ "

Pansy sneered at her. "Well, he likes plants, doesn't he?" she spat. "I figured he would be more… receptive… in his preferred environment." Then she sat up primly, chin up. "And for your information, Longbottom is a gentleman."

"You little slag," Lavender said, and she sounded almost impressed. "You like him!"

"What?!" Pansy was blushing. "Let's not get carried away."

"Puh-lease," Lavender drawled. "You're practically sighing and batting your eyelashes. You are so doomed." 

"How am I doomed?" Pansy looked more than affronted. Hermione thought she looked a little scared.

"You'll get lost in the moment and be screwing his brains out in no time," Lavender replied.

Pansy huffed. "That logic is absurd."

"So what are your plans for this week then?" Lavender inquired.

She shifted in her chair. "I thought I might let him… you know, let him give me a love bite. And maybe…" She dropped her head, mumbling at the table. "…puthishandinmyknickers."

Hermione took advantage of Pansy's obvious discomfort, presenting her list before they could ask for it. She would never admit it, but she was actually a little proud of herself, even though she hadn't gotten the kiss, and even though it meant admitting that she might be a little attracted to Malfoy. They wouldn't be calling her a prude for long. "Try the frottage," she suggested. "You won't regret it."

"No way," Pansy said, perking up. "You got to frottage?"

Hermione shrugged. "We jumped around a bit."

Lavender read aloud the items crossed off of Hermione's list. " _Ear-whispering… frottage… love bites._ "

Pansy released a sound that was half disgust and half amusement. "You let Draco give you love bites? Let's see then."

"They're gone now," Hermione replied, and for a moment, she was sorry they were. "And thank goodness."

Then Pansy looked suspicious. "I never saw any love bites."

"Well, I covered them up, didn't I?"

Lavender squinted at Hermione's list. "Wait a minute. Why is _Basic nipple play_ kind of crossed out?"

"It is?" Hermione grabbed the list out of Lavender's hands, and sure enough, there was the faintest line through basic nipple play. "Oh. Well. I mean, if there was touching… you know, on the outside of the clothes—"

"Granger. I can understand the ear-whispering," Pansy said, as though she were talking to an especially slow child. "Maybe even the love bites. But how the hell do you get to frottage and basic nipple play without scoring a kiss?"

Hermione crossed her arms and stared down at her list. "That's what I would like to know," she muttered.

"Just who's in control here?" Pansy asked, and when Hermione looked up, she found Pansy smirking.

"I am perfectly in control," Hermione asserted, changing tactics. "You're just jealous because I got more items crossed off." That's what this was all about, right? A competition?

"Now that you mention it," Pansy said, her eyes narrowing, "how can we know these lists aren't defective?"

"They are not defective! You watched me do the charm!"

Pansy gave her a look of deep distrust. "But I didn't hear you do the charm."

"It's a simple detection charm, Parkinson," she said, rolling her eyes. "It works." Then she found herself narrowing her eyes at Pansy. "Do you think I'm happy about this?" Because she wasn't. Well, not entirely. Damn, she was confused.

"I don't know," Pansy drawled. "Are you?"

"No! In fact, I'm close to blaming you for the whole debacle."

"Me?" Now Pansy looked truly shocked.

"I almost had that kiss," Hermione insisted, pointing an accusing finger at Pansy. "I'm inclined to think you've done something to make it impossible for me to get it."

Pansy grabbed her own list and started folding it back up. "You're mental."

"I'm with Granger," Lavender spoke up. "I think you've cursed us."

Lavender tossed her list onto the table, and only two items were crossed off: _bondage_ and _ear-whispering_.

"That's—"

"Wow."

"I know, right?" Lavender heaved a dramatic sigh. "Blaise Fucking Zabini."

"And you called _me_ a slag?" Pansy said, pointing her quill to _bondage_.

"You've gotten farther than I have," Lavender pointed out, raising one eyebrow.

"That must have been some first date," Hermione speculated.

"It was…" Lavender looked at the ceiling. "…fucking incredible, actually."

"Explain," Pansy demanded.

Lavender started playing with the zipper on her bag. "Well, when I first approached him, he told me I was going to have to work for it."

Hermione chuckled. "Kinky."

"Right? So I kept going out to… the place where I knew he would be. And finally he said, _Okay, Lavender, you meet me in the Astronomy Tower on Sunday night, and you let me tie you up, and you hold perfectly still for me, and I'll tell you exactly how I'm going to kiss you._ "

There was total silence at the table for a moment. Pansy looked confused. Hermione shifted in her chair.

"Well, did he tell you?" Pansy prodded.

"Yeah. In detail." Lavender's eyelids were heavy, and she had a funny smile on her face. "I think we went through a quarter of that list verbally. And his vocabulary." She shivered. "You have. No. Idea."

"I bet he can't get it up," Pansy announced.

They all looked at her, startled.

"What? I'm telling you, there's something off about Zabini."

Lavender giggled. "He does smoke weed."

"Really?" Hermione asked, surprised that she actually knew someone who did drugs. 

"Yeah." Lavender giggled again. "Good weed."

Hermione begin to reconsider Lavender's proclivity for giggling. And her eyes did sometimes look a bit funny.

"Right," Pansy said, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms. "So you, Brown, are a stoner freak who gets off on being talked to. And you, Granger, are a backwards slut. And neither one of you can get one little kiss." She smirked. "I'm going to wipe the floor with your arses."

"I think you should tell us what happens if we don't get the kiss," Hermione insisted.

Pansy shot her a look of unflattering disbelief. "Are you really telling me that you're having that much trouble getting a kiss?"

"Like I said, I think you cursed us!" It was the only thing that made sense to Hermione.

"I did not curse you! You're just totally inept! Both of you!" She took pity on them. "Look, don't worry about the charm. It's nothing that Madame Pomfrey couldn’t set straight in about five minutes."

Lavender suddenly looked explosive.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Pansy managed to say before Lavender could go off on her. "We had to start off on some kind of equal footing, didn't we? Granger was just going to say screw it to the whole thing. She probably would have just tossed her list in the nearest bin."

"And that would have been the end of the world?" Hermione spat.

"I am trying to help you, Granger," Pansy gritted, as though Hermione was the most ungrateful person in the world. "You're going to be thanking me come Valentine's Day."

"Either that, or I'll have antlers!"

"Oh please," Pansy said. "You won't sprout antlers."

Hermione tapped the end of her quill against her Charms text. "You do bring up a valid point."

"I do?" Pansy looked more suspicious than ever.

"About how important it is that we don't leave our lists just lying around," Hermione said, with a pointed glare in Lavender's direction.

"Why are you both looking at me?" Lavender asked.

"I mean, they don't have our names on them or anything," Hermione continued, "but _still_."

Pansy's nostrils flared slightly. "As much as it pains me to admit this, I agree with Granger."

"What? I get it," Lavender grumbled. "Don't leave the list lying around. Oh look." She held out her watch for them all to see. "Only thirty-five minutes to freedom."

Hermione opened her Charms text to the magical sticky note that gave a small preview of the page it marked. "Perhaps the two of you could humor me and make the most of it."

She was pleased to see that Lavender and Parkinson – now that the sex talk was out of their system – buckled down quite admirably. She, on the other hand, had more trouble concentrating than ever.

* * *

_Tuesday 2 February  
8:43pm_

“Granger.”

She whirled around, wand at the ready, and Draco realized that maybe a surprise attack had not been the best approach. Actually, he shouldn't be doing this at all. But now that he knew she wanted that kiss, he was curious to see how far she'd go to get it.

"Put it away." He leered at her. "If I wanted to attack, you'd already be moaning by now."

She jerked her head at that but pocketed her wand nonetheless. “What do you want?” she demanded, attempting to make herself taller.

He leaned against the doorjamb of a classroom, folding his arms across his chest. This was going to be so much fun. “I’ve been thinking.”

She squinted at him. “About what?”

He shrugged slightly. She wasn't wearing robes tonight, but she was still in typical Hogwarts day clothing – skirt, button-down shirt, knee socks. He let his gaze run the length of her body. She might have been plain in the face, but she had nice curves. It was hard not to stare at her hips now that he knew what she could do with them.

"About you.” He blinked slowly, lifting his eyes from her breasts at last. Then he kicked off from the doorjamb and disappeared inside the classroom, testing her. He suspected she would follow him.

He was right. And this time she cast some heavy silencing charms once the door was closed and locked.

“What about me, then?” she asked impatiently, tucking her wand away and crossing her arms.

He sat down on the corner of a desk and studied her for a moment. “I realize that I went a little overboard.” He paused. “You know… with the marks, I mean.” He was trying not to smirk, but he could feel his lip twitch. He had loved marking her. He would have given anything to be there when she caught her first glimpse of those marks in the mirror.

She immediately flushed. “Is this supposed to be an apology?” 

A what? "I know you enjoyed it at the time, though."

“You know that for a fact, do you?” Now she was tapping her foot. 

He lounged back on his hands, ignoring her question. And there she went, checking him out again. She tried to maintain that look of annoyance, but her eyelids drooped slightly. “And I thought to myself, how could I make it up to you?”

She huffed loudly. “This should be good.” 

“And I decided that I should give you a chance for revenge.”

Her eyes snapped up to his. “Revenge,” she repeated. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. He took that as a sign of interest.

“Yes. Revenge.” He spread his arms out in invitation. “So go for it.”

"You want me to give you a love bite,” she said. It wasn't a question. 

“No,” he corrected her with a coy smile. “I want to give you the _chance_ to give me a love bite. You don’t have to take it.”

She started tapping her foot again, and he gave her a moment to consider it. When she took too long, he stared down at his fingernails. “Anyway, I bet that I, unlike some people, could get through it without moaning and grinding against you.”

“Is that so?” 

God, she was easy. "Give it your best shot."

She began stepping towards him then, and he shifted slightly on the desk, making room for her between his legs. She still looked uncertain, but there was also a look of determination in the set of her jaw. “You want me to—“

“Make me moan,” he finished for her. “If you think you can.”

She stood between his legs now, and with him sitting on the desk, he was eye-to-eye with her. His heart rate picked up slightly. He was sure she wouldn't go through with it. 

"All right," she said softly. One of her hands went to his knee, and he jumped. That was unexpected. She started sliding it up his thigh, angling it to the inside, and Draco couldn't help looking down to watch its progress.

Before he knew what was happening, there was a flash of red light.

"What the fuck, Granger?" He tried to move his hands but couldn't. He looked side to side, finding them bound to the legs of the desk with silky red ropes. He jerked at them. He wasn't going anywhere, and that was going to wreak havoc on his plans for the evening. The whole idea had been to lure her in and then turn it around on her.

"I don't trust you with your hands free," she explained.

He whipped his head up to find that she had her wand at the ready once again. Ah well. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. "Frankly, I think I did more damage with my mouth," he drawled, nodding towards her neck.

"I can gag you, too, if I must," she countered, not missing a beat.

"Ah, but you won't." 

She pointed her wand at his mouth, and for a moment, Draco was a little scared. He knew what Hermione Granger could do with a wand, and it wasn't like he was in any position to fight back. "And why is that?" she demanded.

He glanced down at the tip of her wand and then back up into her eyes. "Because," he said, drawing out the word, "you want me to kiss you."

Granger was an open book. Her eyes widened for the briefest of moments, lips parting. He would thank Pansy later for that little tidbit. Granger shifted her weight, her wand tip now nearly touching his lips. " _You_ are the one who wanted a kiss," she reminded him through gritted teeth.

"I still do," he lied. Fuck if he was going to give it to her before he knew exactly what he stood to gain from it. "And so do you. Make me moan, and you can have it." He might as well see what he could get out of this.

She narrowed her eyes. "It has to be on the lips this time."

Really? She was negotiating this? Clever girl. "Mouth kissing is so overrated." Another lie.

"With tongue."

He laughed. "With… all right. With tongue." Had Pansy dared her to kiss him? Was that what was going on here? Did they have money on it? This was too good. He could hear the dare: Find your polar opposite and plant a wet one on him. Bonus points if you hate each other. "Do we have a deal?"

He could see her grinding her teeth. "Deal. Close your eyes,” she gritted at last.

"Granger, if you think I’m going to close my eyes while you've got your—"

"Fine!" she huffed, pocketing her wand. "Happy? Now close your eyes."

Draco jerked at the bonds again. It wasn't that he was necessarily adverse to being tied up. Actually, he kind of fancied the notion, but in his imagination, childhood rivals were usually not the ones casting the binding spell. But in some strange way, he trusted Granger. Gryffindors and their disgusting principles.

"All right, then," he said, a formal clip to his tone. "I'll close my eyes."

And he did. And he waited. And waited. 

"Well?" he spat after a few moments. "Just going to stand there?"

Then something touched his lips. Her fingers. He jumped. He hadn't been expecting that. "Granger, if you try to kiss me—"

"I'm not going to try to kiss you, Malfoy," she spat. She lowered her voice. "I'm just going to try to make you moan. So do yourself a favor."

"What?"

She traced his bottom lip. He bit down on her fingertip, halting her progress, but she didn't try to pull it away. He felt breath at his ear, and it made him shiver. "Try your best not to moan," she whispered.

Oh, screw her, using his own tricks against him. Fine. He would do this, and he would not enjoy himself, no matter how much she whispered in his ear. And he was not, by any means, going to moan.

"And let go of my finger."

Bitch. He did as she asked, startled to find her pressing that same finger into his mouth. Deciding to play along, he closed his lips around her finger and sucked lightly. He heard a gasp and got an idea. He pulled back, opening his mouth and flicking his tongue against the tip of her finger – exactly like it was her clit, and he was working to tease her, not to get her off.

She pulled her finger away abruptly, and he smirked, satisfied.

His smugness didn't last long. Lips closed on his neck without warning, and he bit his lip, almost losing it. Fuck, that felt good. She was right there at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Wet, soft lips. It went straight to his cock. 

Then she started to suck.

He jerked. No one had ever done anything like this to him before. In fact, he was sure he shouldn't be enjoying it so much. Blokes weren't supposed to enjoy getting their necks sucked on, were they? He started to panic a little.

Then she started sucking harder. He was going to have quite a mark. He felt her fingers slipping into his hair, and he couldn't help it. He leaned into it, rubbing his head against her palm, and _god_ , they were in the wrong position here. He needed to be between _her_ legs, not the other way around. He was dying for some friction.

And why did he still have his eyes closed, anyway? He was going to open them, in just a minute.

"You'll have to do better than that, Granger." So his voice was a little husky. Big deal.

He felt her fingers at his collar and heard the rustle of a button being released. Surely Hermione Granger was not unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes snapped open. Yes, she was. She was moving right down the placket, and then she started tugging at his shirttail, releasing it from his trousers. He stared at her, unbelieving. Just how far was she planning on taking this?

"What are you doing?" He could hear the slight edge of alarm in his voice. Honestly, weren't Gryffindors supposed to be all about playing fair?

She clucked her tongue. "I'm just trying to _do better_ , Malfoy. After all, you're not moaning." She pushed his shirt open and bent forward and _licked his nipple_. "Yet."

He couldn't help his erratic breathing. Granger was sucking on his nipple. No, she was… bloody hell, she was biting it. "I'm not a fucking girl," he bit out, eyes rolling back in his head. "So you can stop with that nonsense."

"Ah." She stopped, and he caught his breath, relieved. "But as a girl—" Her hands went to her own placket. This couldn't be happening. "—I don't think it's nonsense at all."

Draco swallowed. Then he took a deep breath. There was no way Granger was going to unbutton her shirt right here and show him her tits. Was there? 

"You really think your tits are going to make me moan, Granger?" Damn, that sounded weak. It might have been more convincing if he could have quit looking at them.

"Yeah, I do," she purred. She pushed her shirt aside, and—

 _Fuck._ Her bra was white lace, all sweet and innocent, except that the lace was see-through, and he could see her hard nipples poking at the flimsy fabric, and _fuck_. He could feel his cock straining against his trousers. He concentrated on breathing evenly.

"You know what else I think?" she asked.

God, if only he could move his hands. She was so close to him that he could see two small moles on the inside curve of one of her breasts. 

"No idea," he whispered, staring.

"I think you want to taste them."

Hell yeah, he wanted to taste them. He found himself bending his head to do just that. He could smell a flowery scent and… Granger, he supposed. And arousal. He didn't know how exactly, but he could smell that she was turned on, and it made his blood race.

"You know what you did the other night, Malfoy?" Her voice was soft. Shy almost.

He yanked uselessly on his bonds. It was cruel that he couldn't touch. "What did I do?"

"With…" 

He looked up to find her biting her lip. "What?" he nudged her.

"With your nose." She was blushing.

Ah yes. That. He waited until the tip of his nose touched her nipple, and then he let his lips curve into a smile. Yes, he liked this, too. He inhaled her scent, rubbing the tip of his nose around and around her nipple, feeling it harden. Then he licked, one firm, flat stroke right over that white lace.

Her hands twisted in his hair, holding him against her. And then she started to move. Her spine curved, pushing all of that lace and soft flesh against his face. He wrapped his lips around a nipple and sucked. Perfect. She was making those very un-Granger sounds again.

He went to work on the other breast, thinking he would give anything for friction against his cock. He was aching. Dripping. He could feel it.

He grasped one of her bra cups in his teeth and dragged it down over her breast. Then the other one. Then he leaned back to look. She looked so slutty like that, her breasts hanging out over her bra, nipples pert, shirt open, lips parted as she stared down at him. He mindlessly pulled at his bonds.

"Granger," he whispered. "Let me go."

"You're not moaning," she reminded him.

It was true. He was holding up well so far. But he had to get out of these bonds. They were driving him mental. "Let me go," he tried again, his teeth clenched.

"Taste," she said, simply, pressing him back against her, and yeah, all right. He could do that just a moment longer. And as he was doing that, he felt her dragging her hand down his side and over the waistband of his trousers.

He pulled back, panting. There was no way in hell that Granger was going to touch his cock, right? Because that would really be playing dirty.

She tugged at his belt, and Draco froze, closing his eyes. For once, he was afraid to speak. She pulled at his button and then his zipper, and he sat up a little straighter. He could feel himself shaking, and he hated it. He couldn't moan. He refused to moan.

"Careful, Malfoy," she whispered in his ear.

And then Granger pulled the waistband of his pants aside and reached in and wrapped her fingers around his cock.

He held his breath, his hips jerking. It wasn't like he was new at this. It's just that this was _Granger_ , and it was totally unexpected, and obviously she wasn't new at this, either. She didn't hesitate. She grasped him firmly and stroked, her thumb brushing over the tip. Fuck. He almost moaned.

"You like that, Malfoy?" Her lips were still at his ear.

He swallowed. "It's not bad." It wasn't his own hand, so it was pretty much brilliant.

"Not good enough to make you moan, though?" she prodded. 

He tried to reach up, grab onto her arms, touch her breasts, _anything_ , and it pissed him off that he couldn't. "Let me go," he gritted. He refused to open his eyes. He knew what he would see – her breasts right there in front of him, her bare torso, begging to be licked.

This was too much.

She took her hand off of him, and he bit back a protest. But it was back a moment later, and _oh fuck_ , she had spit in her hand, and now he was gliding through her fist like a hot knife through butter. He thrust into her hand, and she squeezed, letting him do it. He could hear his own breath get ragged.

"Moan, or I stop," she whispered.

"Don't stop." It was all he could do to get the words out.

"Moan, Malfoy." There was an impatient edge to her tone.

No. If he moaned, she would expect him to kiss her. And it was true that he didn't have to follow through, but it was would be a risk to piss her off at this stage. But it would also be a risk to kiss her. If she got the kiss, would she ever do this again? He was betting the answer was no. And damn. She must _really_ want that kiss.

She stopped, and Draco took a deep, shuddering breath to try to get himself under control. He looked up to find that she was already readjusting her bra and buttoning her shirt back up. She was giving him a fierce look.

His heartbeat in his ears was deafening. He wondered if girls felt this same brainless imperative to fuck. It clouded everything. But he managed to rein himself in.

Once she had her clothing adjusted, she strode to the door. Draco panicked. Surely she wasn't going to leave him here tied to this desk, cock hanging out?

"Granger, what the fuck?" he called desperately.

She turned around and pointed her wand at his wrists, releasing him. "You're unbelievable," she spat, clearly disgusted. The door slammed behind her on the way out.


	5. Add it up

_Wednesday 3 February  
8:36pm_

"You're doing so well this time, pet. Almost there."

Lavender did not think she was doing well at all. She was in the Room of Requirement, nude and bound on a four-poster bed that would have been remarkable for its size, design, and comfort, had she been in any position to appreciate it. 

Zabini was torturing her with a feather, and she was so close to cracking. He had been over every inch of her body at least twice with it already, and he had spent at least the past ten minutes teasing her nipples with it. She would do anything to get off. 

He ran the feather slowly between her breasts and down her torso, circling her navel. When he started to move lower, she bucked up to receive its soft touch.

He predictably pulled it away. And then he sighed.

"My dear… sweet… naughty… impatient… Lavender," he purred, punctuating each word with a touch of the feather right between her legs. "I'm disappointed. I know you can do better than this. Look at those hips move. So greedy."

He took the feather away again, and she cried out, begging him not to stop.

"Shh," he whispered. "You said you understood my expectations. Recite them for me."

Lavender wondered if she could come just from his… Zabininess. Without even being touched. The sheets beneath her were soaked. 

"I am not to move."

"And?"

"I am not to make a noise."

"See? Such simple instructions." He tutted condescendingly. "You know you're not getting off until you obey. Honestly, I would settle for thirty seconds of compliance at this point."

Lavender pressed her eyes closed. Zabini was one seriously kinky bloke. He was also creative. And sadistic. And unforgiving. She was starting to think she might want to spend the rest of her life being tortured by him.

But she had to get that kiss before Valentine's Day, and at the rate he was moving, he was liable to spend an entire evening just _touching_ her lips. And not even with his finger, but with a strawberry or something. Or – she shivered – with ice. That sounded promising, actually. Maybe she could find a way to suggest that scenario to him.

He started with the feather again, right at the hollow of her neck, and she snapped.

"Look, I have this list!" she exclaimed, panting. "And I can’t tell you anything about it. But if I don’t do the first thing on the list, something bad will happen."

He raised the feather and narrowed his eyes. "What kind of list?"

"It’s…" She knew she wasn't supposed to be doing this. It was as good as cheating. But frankly, she felt that Parkinson's curse had also been a form of cheating. "I can’t tell you. But I need you to kiss me."

Oh, the look on his face. It made the past half hour of torture seem mild. "Show me the list, and I’ll kiss you."

She pulled at her bonds. She didn't know why. She wasn't going anywhere. "Kiss me first," she demanded, lifting her chin.

"Lavender." He said her name in a sing-song voice that insisted she remember who was in charge.

"It’s in my bag," she continued, undeterred. "I’ll get it for you. I promise. Just kiss me." She paused. "With tongue."

"With tongue," he repeated, and now his voice held a slightly derisive tone.

Yes, yes, she agreed that Granger's wording was less than poetic. But that was not the point. "Zabini, I'm telling you, I could end up with antlers if you don't do this!"

He cocked his head and ran the feather playfully over her sweaty temples. "That might suit you."

"You might end up with antlers, too," she said darkly. "I don't know the details."

Whoa, he did not like the sound of that one bit. His jaw tightened menacingly. Menace looked excellent on him, by the way. "Then you should probably tell me where I can find this list," he said. The _should probably_ was just for effect. It was undoubtedly an order.

"And then you’ll kiss me?" she bartered. It wouldn't be the end of the world if he saw the list. He would probably guess it was some sort of competition, but he wasn't going to get additional details out of her, no matter how many feathers he used.

He sighed. "Yes."

She studied his face for a moment. "You promise?" Not that his promises really meant anything.

"I promise," he whispered silkily.

"It’s tucked into my copy of _Unfogging the Future_."

He rose from the bed, looking entirely unaffected by their play. He was still fully dressed as always. He hadn't even rolled up his sleeves. But there was one thing… his erection was clearly visible beneath his trousers. She smirked when she saw it.

"You're still taking Divination?" he asked as he took the book out of her bag.

She rolled her eyes. "It’s an easy O."

He made no other comment about her course schedule. He took out the list and then eased the book back into her bag. 

She waited.

He unfolded it and stared at it for a minute, his face unreadable. Then he looked up at her. "Fascinating," he said simply. 

He took out his wand, and he tapped the list, and—

"What are you doing?" she asked, panic evident in her voice.

He raised one eyebrow. "I’m making a copy, of course."

"You can’t do that!"

"Actually," he said, "I’m quite good at Charms."

She tugged uselessly at her bonds, but he was already lifting his copy off of the original. He gingerly slid the original back into the front pocket of her bag. Then he made meticulous folds in his copy and slipped it into his pocket.

This was bad. Why hadn't she been expecting something like this? Oh, right. Her brain was addled from almost an hour of sexual torture. And she was desperate to not have antlers.

But, curiously, he wasn't asking for the details that she had suspected he would want. That thought did not comfort her at all.

"Zabini—"

"Don’t worry, Brown," he purred. He crawled back up the huge bed to lie beside her once again. "Your secret is safe with me."

Right. She was not buying it. But the damage was done, and it was time for him to deliver on his promise.

"What about my kiss?" 

"Ah, yes," he whispered, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. "I think you’ve worked hard enough for it."

* * *

_Thursday 4 February  
10:20am_

Draco rolled his eyes when he saw Blaise approaching his table in the library. They had a two-hour break on Thursday mornings due to eighth year scheduling issues, and he had been hoping to knock out his Potions essay during that time. He had kind of put it off until the last minute.

Blaise pulled out the chair opposite Draco and sat down, holding up a folded piece of parchment. "I have in my hands a list, taken from the personal effects of Miss Lavender Brown."

Really? He was interrupting Draco for that? "Then I'm sure it's full of nonsense," Draco replied tersely. "Not to mention 'i's dotted with hearts and smiley faces."

"I said I took it from Brown. I have reason to believe the authoress of the list is… someone else."

Draco paused. "Author _ess_? Really, Zabini?" Who the hell used words like _authoress_?

Blaise gave him a faint smile. "Believe me when I say that it was certainly not penned by someone of the male persuasion."

"So what kind of list is it?" Draco inquired in his most casual tone.

"It's a list of sexual acts."

Draco's head shot up. Then he struck, attempting to snatch the list out of Blaise's grasp.

Blaise had anticipated this response, of course, and quickly moved it out of his reach. "Now, now, Draco," he said. "It seems an exchange is in order."

Draco studied Blaise for a moment, schooling his features. "I'll prep your Potions ingredients next class." It was a well-known fact that Blaise despised prep work, probably because he was always bitching about it.

"Make it next two classes."

A list of sexual acts, taken from Lavender Brown's personal effects? Yeah, it was worth it. "Done."

Blaise idly caressed the fold of the parchment. "And I want you to admit that you've been sneaking around with Granger."

Draco smirked. Two could play at that game. "Why? Does that make it easier for you to admit that you're sneaking around with Brown?"

"I do not sneak," Blaise replied disdainfully.

Wait a minute. Of course. Draco and Blaise were both, out of the blue, involved with former Gryffindors. And Pansy was all over Longbottom. "You think this list is connected to that somehow."

"Yes, I do."

Draco set down his quill and leaned his chair back on two legs, twining his fingers behind his neck. "Let me see the list," Draco drawled, now even more interested.

"Admit it," Zabini countered, waving the parchment at him.

"Fine." Draco shrugged. "Granger and I have perhaps… run into each other a few times."

"I knew it."

Blaise finally handed it over, making Draco work for it a bit before he let it go. Draco unfolded it. And then, with great effort, he managed to keep his eyes from bulging. "It's a checklist." 

"Appears to be, doesn't it?"

The crossed-out items caught his attention first, of course. _Kiss, with tongue. Bondage. Ear-whispering._

_Fellatio_ was not crossed out, but it caught his attention nonetheless because he was a male human being.

"This is Lavender's list, is it?"

"It is." Blaise paused. "And I suspect there are others."

"Like Pansy."

"She's been all over Longbottom lately, hasn't she?"

"Subtlety was never her forte," Draco admitted. He himself was not one for public displays of affection.

"No indeed. And we’ve already established that Pansy and Brown are in a study group with…." He waved his hand slightly, his eyes gleaming as he waited for Draco to finish the thought.

Draco shifted in his chair. "You think they all have a checklist like this?" Because that was – he looked down at the word _fellatio_ again – an interesting notion.

"This is just conjecture on my part, of course." Blaise tried to sound nonchalant, but there was an edge of greed in his tone, and he was watching Draco carefully.

Draco was silent for a few moments, reading through the list. He and Granger had done at least… five already. Maybe six. "No way," he said at last, refusing to betray that information to Zabini until he had something to gain from it. "Granger? Totally out of character for her."

"So she's been the same old Granger lately, has she? When you've _run into her_ , I mean?"

Draco ignored the question. "I see you've managed to accomplish a whopping three items," he said with a smirk. "And only one of them requires touching."

He could see Blaise's jaw working. "Attraction is mental."

"For you, maybe."

"For witches?" Blaise picked at an imaginary spot on the sleeve of his robes. "Definitely."

"What's the matter, Zabini?" Draco chuckled. "Bits not working like they should?"

"Oh, I'm in perfect operating condition, _Draco_ ," he insisted, and for a moment, Blaise openly leered at him.

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. He supposed he had walked right into that one, and yeah, they had wanked off together once in fifth year over a purloined copy of _Playwizard_. Big deal.

Then Blaise looked pensive. "But frankly, I'm not sure I like being objectified like this."

Draco scanned the list again. He didn't mind at all. Certain words popped out: _cunnilingus_ and _frottage_ among them. They were so… clinical. "I think you're right about one thing," he conceded. "Brown is definitely not the _authoress_."

Blaise smiled. "The verbiage screams 'Granger', doesn't it?"

Irrefutably. "Zabini, this list is…" He tried to think of the right word. _Intriguing_ came to mind, but it didn't quite cover it.

"A priceless view into the female psyche," Blaise helpfully supplied.

"I mean… bondage is number _five_?"

"Elementary, Draco," Blaise said with a dismissive hand gesture. "Women are ashamed of wanting what they want. Bondage allows them the pretense of putting up a fight."

"Yeah," Draco said with a chuckle, "unless you're the one who's tied up."

Blaise looked sincerely perplexed. "What self-respecting wizard would allow himself to be tied up?"

Draco shifted uneasily in his chair. He changed the subject before he could start turning red. "How does _mutual masturbation_ come before _love bites_?"

"And note that _hands inside knickers_ is listed separately from _fingering_ ," Blaise pointed out. "Which is last."

" _Hands inside pants_ is low on the list, too," Draco noticed. Was the penis truly so insignificant to females? Because if so, entire markets for sexual aids were in danger of drying up. Bad pun.

"I'm not sure order was necessarily a consideration," Blaise replied, and Draco thought that he sounded a bit concerned, too. "I mean, it seems random, doesn't it?"

Yeah, there was that. And also… "I see there's one thing missing."

Blaise gave him a truly lecherous smile. "Oh, I can think of more than one thing that's missing."

"Pervert," Draco said. Yeah, maybe he said it a little affectionately. "So what's the end game, then?"

Now Blaise was leaning his chair back on two legs. "I know what _my_ end game is."

"But why would they bother with all of this and omit the biggie?" That was the whole point. "Ah."

"Took you long enough," Blaise teased him.

"Yeah, well, you've had longer to think about it, haven't you? You've probably been wanking over this list for days." Draco probably shouldn't have gone there. Again.

"Why wank when I have a willing partner?" And there it was again. The leer.

"I don't know. Could be fun," Draco suggested mildly, pointing to _mutual masturbation_.

That thought hung there for a moment, and yes, Draco's eyes darted to Blaise's lips for a fraction of a second.

They both cleared their throats.

"Are you ready for the rest?" Blaise asked. Draco ignored the slightly husky quality of his voice.

"There’s more?"

"The kiss is required."

Confirmation at last! "And how long do they have?"

"Today is the fourth of February," Blaise said off the top of his head. "My guess? They have ten more days."

"Why the hell have I been wasting money on chocolates all these years?" Draco considered aloud. "Those dirty-minded little girls."

"You say that with such reverence, Draco."

"I can't help it. I'm impressed," he admitted. Shocked. But also impressed. He snickered. "So how far do you think Pansy's gotten with Longbottom, then?" He had to wonder, the same way it was impossible to look away when someone got struck by a Bludger.

"I'd rather not speculate." Blaise studied Draco carefully for a moment. "How far have _you_ gotten, then?"

Draco looked at the list and smirked. _Now_ he had something to gain. "Farther than you."

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Easy to say without Granger's list in front of us, isn't it?"

"Oh, Granger is making impressive progress, I assure you," Draco drawled. Almost half the list, in fact.

"Is that so?"

"And she's loving every minute of it," Draco continued, with relish.

"Draco, please. I know you. You have no self-control. You'll never make it through all of these without skipping straight to the grand finale."

"You don't think so?" Draco could feel his cheeks begin to flush. Damn Zabini and his dark, blush-concealing skin. "I know _you_ , Zabini. You'll never get past these three." He tossed the list across the table. "You're all talk and no action."

"Bet I make it farther than you." The words seemed to ring in the quiet of their library corner. "And with more items crossed off."

Draco _knew_ he hadn't thrown the b-word out there. "How much?" 

"Twenty Galleons."

 _New money_ , Draco thought smugly. "Make it fifty."

Blaise hesitated, his jaw tightening. "You're on," he said at last. "But you need a copy of Granger's list to prove it."

"I can get the original," Draco said with a shrug.

"No, make a copy," Blaise insisted. "We don't want to risk spoiling their game, do we?"

He had a point. "A copy then."

"We'll compare the lists the day after Valentine's Day."

Draco crossed his feet under the table. "Works for me."

When Blaise spoke again, there was a warning tone to his voice. "If you don't get a copy of the list, Draco, I win."

"Ah, Zabini." Draco leaned in across the table. "I will get a copy of the list. And mark my words: Granger’s going to win this little contest. I’m going to see to it. Even if she fights me every step of the way." He could feel his own eyes gleaming. "In fact, I hope she does."

Blaise leaned in, too. "Like it rough, do you?"

"I like a challenge."

"You like to tease." Blaise licked his lips. "But you cave too easily."

"Not this time." He leaned closer. "By Valentine’s Day, Granger is going to be begging me to fuck her."

"Oh yeah?" Blaise leaned closer. "Brown won't be able to beg me to fuck her. She won't be able to do anything but moan."

"Yes, but for how long?"

"Long enough."

Draco suddenly realized that they were so close that their noses were practically touching. He backed up, but he kept his eyes on Blaise's.

"Fifty Galleons," Draco said, raising one eyebrow.

Blaise smirked. "Get the list."

* * *

_Thursday 4 February  
7:28pm_

There was a lot that Neville Longbottom didn't know, but he knew his own strengths and weaknesses. Gran had always told him he should know at least that much to get on in life. He would never excel at Potions, for example. Precision was not his forte, and neither was timing – both crucial abilities for the brewer of potions. 

He wasn't the best at Transfiguration, either. He was in the Astronomy Tower, sitting on the chaise lounge he had just conjured, and noticing with a grimace that it appeared to be dipping a bit in the middle. And vibrating.

No, wait. That was him vibrating. Shaking, rather. He was a bit nervous.

He attempted the deep-breathing technique he had read about in a book that his Great Aunt Enid let him borrow. But he always had trouble making the numbers work with the breaths and ended up sputtering for air, so maybe that wasn't the best idea right now.

Any minute, Pansy Parkinson would be coming through that door, and they would….

Okay, he couldn't sit down any longer. He got up and started to pace.

Maybe he wasn't good at Potions or Transfiguration or a lot of other things, but Neville was undeniably talented at Herbology, and that's what had landed him in this situation. A week ago, Pansy had asked for his help with an essay, and he had reluctantly agreed. They hadn't gotten very far with the essay. And that's when he had discovered that he was good at something else: making Pansy Parkinson moan. 

He was as surprised as she was. But when she had tentatively touched his tongue with hers that first night, something instinctual inside him had taken over, and he had gone with it. He found that – just like with plants – he didn't have to be perfect, and he didn't have to do everything perfectly the first time. She was not shy at all about telling him exactly what she wanted.

He had no idea what had made her suddenly decide that she wanted to snog him, but he was not asking questions.

"Hi, Neville."

He jumped, startled, and turned towards the door. "Pansy."

"You look handsome tonight."

He straightened a little. That was another thing. She was actually a pretty nice person when it was just the two of them. She could still be a bit… abrupt. But she didn't hold back compliments where she felt they were due.

"You look nice, too," he said. It wasn't a lie. Her nose wasn't the loveliest in the world, but the lips beneath it were lush, and she always wore some kind of lipstick to draw attention to them. Her hair was always carefully combed and parted. And she always showed a little bit of leg.

Neville liked legs. A lot.

Then she turned almost businesslike. "Tonight, I want you to put your hand in my knickers."

Neville gasped. He had never gotten that far with anyone. "Are you… sure?"

The strange thing was that she didn't look sure at all, yet she claimed that she was, and she seemed stubbornly determined for him to do it.

"Maybe we should… kiss first?" he recommended. 

"No, no," she said with a dismissive hand gesture, "let's just get straight to it."

Neville realized then that he was kind of standing on one foot, and his mouth was open. He watched in disbelief as she sauntered over to the chaise and sat down primly on it. He was afraid to look too eager, but he was pretty excited. Also, this was really awkward.

"Well? Don't just stand there."

"Right," he said, making his way to the chaise. They did a funny little back-and-forth for a minute, trying to get situated, until Pansy lay back with a huff and pulled on him so that he was stretched out beside her. But he realized he was on the wrong side. "Er… I'm not left-handed," he told her.

"Then get on the other side!" she exclaimed in a temper. But as he obeyed, he noticed that she was smiling slightly.

"So. Okay," he said, mostly to himself. "Are you sure about this?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Neville, I said I was sure. Just—" Instead of finishing her sentence, she grabbed his hand and put it under her skirt.

He gasped. He could feel her knickers against his fingers, and they were some type of smooth, silky material. He wondered what they looked like. "This just doesn't seem—"

"Neville," she interrupted him brusquely, "if your hand is not inside my knickers by the count of three, I'm getting up and walking out of here. One. Two. _Oh god._ "

Neville got choked on a gulp and ended up making what he knew was an unflattering sound. Pansy was staring at him, her eyes wide. It was one thing to know that a girl got wet when she was aroused. It was quite another thing to feel it. It was a thick, slippery kind of wet, and there were all kinds of folds of flesh there that he had no idea what to do with. "I think… maybe… you should spread your legs a little bit?"

He expected her to huff or roll her eyes, but instead, she did as he suggested. "Like that?" Then her breathing changed. "Oh yes, you're right. That's much better. That's…." She started to move her hips slightly, and his thumb brushed against a hard nub of flesh. "Ah!"

"What?!" His hand stilled. She looked as though she were in pain. 

She grabbed his wrist, and when she spoke, she sounded like a different person. " _Do that again._ "

So he did. "You mean like that?"

She was still holding onto his wrist, guiding his hand. Her nails dug into his skin, and he found that he kind of liked that reaction. "Neville… that's… _brilliant_."

"It is?" he wondered aloud, and she nodded frantically. Then she leaned her head back on the armrest and closed her eyes and started making these sounds almost like growls.

Her response encouraged him. He was working in the dark here, so to speak, but he knew that somewhere around here, there was an opening…. She might like it if he touched her there…. And he was very interested to know what she felt like inside….

He pressed lightly with one finger until he found a spot that seemed wetter and hotter than the surrounding area. Then he took a deep breath and gently started to push, and… Godric almighty… hot, tight, slick flesh surrounded the tip of his finger… and he shuddered because it was so tight that he wondered if he was in the right place… and, curious, he decided to press a little deeper, being very, very careful….

She jerked away from him, looking a bit scared, and he immediately regretted what he had done. "I'm sorry, Pansy!" he said frantically, pulling his hand away. "I didn't mean… I should have asked… I was just…."

"It's okay," she assured him, but she still looked uncomfortable.

He looked down at his fingers then. They were covered in wetness. It was clear like water but viscous like the inside of a plant stem. He knew about oral sex, and he wondered… he lifted his fingers to his mouth….

"What are you doing?" she practically shouted, startling him.

"I want to taste it," he mumbled. And he did. And it was… not bad at all.

She looked torn between intrigue and disgust. "What does it taste like?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"It's… tangy." He looked at his fingers again. "Smells kind of strange. But not bad. I like it."

"You do?" She was gaping at him.

"You know," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "I could…."

"You could what?" She looked nervous.

He tried again. "I mean, it might feel good if I…."

"If you _what_?" 

He looked down at her skirt. It was kind of rumpled, and he got a glimpse of her knickers. They were satiny. And green. He spoke in an exceedingly quiet voice. "If I kissed you… there."

She said nothing. Finally, he looked back up at her. She was biting her lip and looking torn.

"Can we…" She ducked her head bashfully. "Can we just cuddle for a while?"

"Oh!" he exclaimed, feeling equal parts disappointed and relieved. He probably needed to do a little more research, anyway, before he tackled something so… delicate. "Yeah!" he added enthusiastically. "I mean… of course."

And they did another little back-and-forth until Pansy firmly pulled him down, and he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his forehead against her neck.

That felt nice, too.

* * *

_Thursday 4 February  
8:18pm_

Hermione was far back in the History section of the library, which few students ever visited, when Malfoy approached her again. She saw him from the corner of her eye, leaning against the shelf beside her with his infuriatingly blonde hair and his stupid long limbs.

“Guess what I found?” he asked.

She couldn't care less what he'd found. All she cared about was that she didn't want to look up at him and be forced to think to herself, _I've touched his penis._ And yes. It was a magnificent penis. Of course it was. Penises were obviously inversely related to their owners' dispositions, so that the more insufferable the man, the more glorious his cock was bound to be. 

And with that thought, she slipped the book back into its place on the shelf, grabbed her bag, and turned to leave.

His arm predictably shot out in front of her, blocking her path. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to look him in the eye. He had a triumphant smirk on his face. He was well aware of what she was thinking.

“What did you find?” she asked, trying for nonchalance.

His gaze swept over her face, lingering on her lips as he spoke. “A list.”

Her stomach lurched, as though she had just fallen a long distance. Her mouth instantly went dry. She could ponder the culprit later. For now—

“What kind of list?” she asked in her best innocent voice.

Malfoy reached one hand up to the shelf behind her, leaning in. “I think you know what kind of list,” he said, and one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She didn’t expect him to believe that, but it was worth a try. 

His curled the fingers of his other hand around her shoulder. “Granger, you are a horrible liar,” he said, and he laughed. Was that… _pity_ in his laugh? “Please just stop trying.”

“Where did you find it?” Her own voice sounded very far away.

“That’s none of your concern.” Of course he wasn’t going to tell her. “I just want to make sure I understand what’s going on here. Because I know what it looks like.”

“Oh yeah?” she spat. “What does it look like?”

“Well, from my end,” he said in a syrupy voice, “it looks like you’re in some sort of competition with Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson.”

"What kind of competition?” she asked, trying to gauge just how much he knew. She wasn’t giving anything away willingly here.

He chuckled. “Do you really want me to spell it out for you?” When she said nothing, he started, “Kiss, with tongue. Hands on bare breasts. Hands down—“

“All right!” she hissed, cutting him off. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her bag was cutting into her shoulder.

“Clever detection charm, by the way. Yours, I assume. If the list I found is working properly, then you and I are pretty far ahead.” He leaned in, but she kept her eyes fixed on his chin. “But I want to make sure we stay on top.”

“Not going to happen,” she asserted.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve already got one thing working in my favor.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, put out. When he didn’t reply right away, she looked up at him.

“You, Granger,” he drawled, “are obviously a very dirty girl.”

She gasped at the accusation. She wanted to deny, deny, deny. But her traitorous body really liked the way he’d said that. In fact, she found that she wanted to hear more about just how dirty he thought she was. Was that a normal response?

“It wasn’t… ” She stopped. Damn. She was about to claim it wasn’t her idea. But almost the entire thing had been her idea.

“It wasn’t what?” he asked, clearly amused.

“It was just a bit of fun,” she said with a huff. “I didn’t know….” Again she found herself trailing off. 

“You didn’t know what?”

 _I didn’t know about your magnificent cock,_ she thought.

“This is ridiculous,” she managed to say instead. "Tell me where you found the list."

“The important thing here,” he said, skirting her command, “is that I was right. You were up to something. And I told you I would find out what it was."

It was with great effort that Hermione refrained from stomping her foot in aggravation.

His voice dropped. “Just tell me one thing.”

Nothing. She would tell him nothing at all. But she had a feeling that, if he asked the right question, her face would tell him everything. She hoped he didn’t ask the right question, but she guessed, even before his opened his mouth, exactly what he was going to ask, and she wanted to sink right through the library floor.

“Did you pull my name out of a hat?” Yes, he was amused, but there was also some hesitation in his eyes. “Or did you pick me?”

He wanted to hear that she had picked him. And if she had known what was good for her, she would have told him exactly why she had picked him. But somehow – even though he was a manipulative bastard who wouldn't kiss her and refused to moan on command – she did not have the heart to toy with his male pride like that. Perhaps she could also recognize that he never disgusted her quite as much as she claimed. Certainly not physically, anyway.

She decided not to answer him at all. Her silence, of course, told him exactly what he wanted to know.

“Wow.” He spoke the word on an exhalation, almost reverently. The awe did not last long before a look of pure mischief crossed his face. “Turn around.”

“What?!” she exclaimed, having trouble keeping her voice down.

“Shh,” he hissed. “Put this down.” He took her bag off her shoulder and dropped it to the floor, keeping his eyes on her in case she decided to run. “And turn around.” Hands on her shoulders, he turned her.

She let him do it. Partially because she was stunned, and partially because she was curious, but mostly because for as long as she could remember, she had always wanted—

“And put your hands up here.”

—to be in this exact position in the library: her hands gripping a shelf in front of her and a long, lean body behind her. It was like he knew. And honestly, in this position, he could be anyone. He didn’t have to know that in more than a few of those fantasies, he had been… well, _him_.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

She expected a chuckle, but all she got was warm breath at her ear, his fingers pushing her hair out of the way and tucking it behind her ear. “Making progress.” He pressed a light kiss against her earlobe.

“No!” she protested in a hushed voice. Fantasies were one thing. Knowing that someone could walk up at any moment and find her with her belly pressed against the shelf and Draco Malfoy behind her… that was a different story.

“Oh yes,” he said. One of his hands cupped her jaw, holding her head still. But the other hand was unmistakably headed down her side to the hem of her skirt.

Oh no, this couldn’t happen. Not like this. If he reached his obvious target, then he was going to know just how much she wanted this. Her hand flew to his wrist to stop him, but he twisted his hand and easily engulfed hers in it. He lifted her hand back to the shelf, curling her fingers back around the edge.

“Keep that there, Granger,” he commanded her. “Both of them. Don’t move them.”

She pressed her forehead against the spines of the books in front of her, inhaling the scent of ancient book cloth and trying not to tremble. She thought this might be the most aroused she’d ever been in her entire life. She didn’t want to move her hands. She wanted an excuse to stand there and let him do whatever he wanted to do without having to accept any responsibility for her own desire.

“So what do we tackle next? Any preferences?” he asked. He laughed softly. “Frankly, the list seemed a little all over the place. And I suppose order doesn’t really matter at this point.” Again his hand approached the hem of her skirt, this time slipping beneath it. His fingers curled around her thigh, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin on the inner side as she unconsciously parted her legs. “Might as well skip to the end.”

She tried to think. The last item on the list was—

“No!” she said over her shoulder. “Malfoy, this is a library!”

“Then I guess you’d better be quiet.” He pushed her skirt out of the way, sliding his palm over her belly. The tip of one finger brushed the top of her mound.

“No,” she panted, even as her hips made a small bucking motion. “Malfoy. Please don’t do this.” It sounded weak, but she knew she had to protest. It was the right thing to do. 

“You want me to stop, do you?” he asked, not buying the act. The tips of his fingers dipped under the top of her knickers, scratching lightly at the hair they encountered there.

She didn't want to answer in either the affirmative or the negative. Couldn’t he just read her mind? She held her breath as his hand dipped lower, his knuckles holding the fabric of her knickers away from her body. He gave her one gentle flick with his finger, right where she wanted it most, and she bit down hard on her lower lip.

“I’ll stop if you want me to.” She could hear the smile in his voice. At the same time, it was starting to take on a husky tone.

She raised her forehead and turned her head, pressing her cheek against the books. There was no one at the end of the row. They were all alone. For now.

“Granger?”

“Don’t stop,” she whispered at last.

“That’s what I thought,” he replied, rewarding her by sliding his fingers through her now very slick folds. "Already?" he whispered with a chuckle, and she hated her own body for betraying her.

But it was hard to focus on that when his fingers felt so magnificent. She had to wrap her lips over her teeth and press them together to keep from crying out. One of his fingers circled her clitoris, spreading all that moisture around, and then moved back down. Her hands clenched on the shelf as he eased two fingers inside her with gentle pumping motions. She sighed, bucking forward against his hand.

“So what does the winner get?” he asked, his lips at her ear again.

Did he really expect to have a conversation right now? “Isn’t it obvious?” she groaned. 

“Just this, then?” As though for emphasis, he moved his fingers a little deeper. His thumb worked in counterpoint above. She wanted to press her legs together and shamelessly ride his hand.

“Yes,” she answered. “Just this. And bragging rights.” She realized that it sounded immensely lame. If it had been the boys competing, they probably would have brought gold into it. “Ah!” she panted when he bent his fingers inside her.

“Shh!” he hissed in her ear. He held still for a moment, and she panicked. Had he heard someone approaching? But after a few seconds, he continued, his fingers working more deeply inside her than ever. “Then I’d better give you plenty to brag about,” he whispered.

And that’s exactly what he was doing. He increased both the speed and the pressure, and if that wasn’t enough, he bent down and pressed his lips to her neck. His mouth moved rhythmically against her, lips leaving a trail of breathy kisses from her ear to the base of her neck. 

How was it possible that Malfoy was so good at this? Was the universe so cruel? She threw her head back against his shoulder, her neck lengthening for him, and he moaned softly at her response. Hermione’s head spun at the sound of it. There was nothing in the world like the sounds he made when he was turned on. Those sounds went straight to her womb. They made her clench around his fingers. There was such desperation in them, which was so completely incongruent with the Malfoy she had always known.

She mindlessly grinded herself against his hand, and he lifted his mouth to her ear. “You’re not going to come right here in the library, are you?” he whispered. Her hips bucked more quickly in response. She actually thought she could. She thought she might.

“Just….” Her throat was dry from panting. She licked her lips and swallowed, trying for the one most important word. “Harder.”

“Harder?” he repeated, a note of surprise in his voice. “Really?” He complied immediately with the most perfect friction. “How's that?”

“Good,” she said. “That’s good.”

“You know,” he whispered, “I think I like being behind you.” She nearly bit through her lip to keep from moaning at that thought. She felt herself clench down on his hand uncontrollably. “Ah, you like it, too, do you?” She could feel that unfairly magnificent penis pressed against her lower back, hot and hard. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hermione whimpered. She couldn’t help it. What they were doing was good. It was beyond good. But her mind took it even farther. She imagined being on her hands and knees for him. And at that exact moment, he buried his free hand in her hair and pulled, tugging her head back against him. She let out a heavy breath, which got caught over her vocal chords and came out as a loud sigh.

“Shh,” he whispered, and now he sounded frantic. “Be quiet, or we’re going to get caught.”

And then – and she thought she might masturbate over the memory of this for the rest of her life – he slipped two fingers between her lips. Now she was full of him. She sucked on his fingers, and he cursed quietly, saying the exact word that she was thinking.

“Or maybe you’d like to get caught,” he suggested, and her orgasm slammed through her body. She threw her head back, releasing his fingers, and gritted her teeth. All she wanted to do was howl in pleasure, and she couldn’t do that. She wanted to growl like an animal. Release coursed through her in spasms, and Malfoy – Draco – held his fingers motionless inside her, letting her ride it out against him. It seemed to go on forever.

The spasms finally diminished, and instead of falling forward against the shelf, she fell back against him, boneless, and he pulled his hand out from under her skirt and wrapped it around her waist, holding her up.

“Very nice,” he whispered, pressing a few light kisses against her neck.

She panted, licking her lips. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she didn’t have a choice. It was the most intense orgasm she’d ever had in her life. She still, minutes later, felt the muscles between her legs clenching and unclenching. His hands… his voice… the books… everything….

“Now about this kiss." His voice was no longer a seductive whisper.

Finally coming back to her senses, she tried to jerk away from him, but he crushed her back against him.

"I know it's required. So here's what's going to happen, Granger. Now that we both know exactly how your dirty mind works."

She froze. His tone was menacing, but it only made her want to go for another round. Again: Universe. Cruel.

"I am going to give you that kiss."

She held her breath. Actually, he was holding her so tightly that it was hard to breathe in the first place.

"Just as soon as we finish…" —he kissed her jaw— "…every… other… item on that list."

She swallowed thickly, feeling another weak spasm shake her.

"And I'm going to need a copy of the list," he continued. "You know, as a souvenir."

Like hell she was giving him a copy of the list.

"And you have until 11:59pm on the 13th of February to oblige me."

She really just wanted to melt. She thought it was a distinct possibility that she might.

He sucked her earlobe between his lips, and she whimpered. "Are we clear?"

She swallowed a whimper. "Crystal," she panted.

"Good." She heard the smile in his voice. "Be thinking about what you want to do next."

He released her, and she reached forward, leaning against the shelf in front of her. He bent down and scooped up her bag and put it back on her shoulder, and then he walked away.


	6. This is only a guess

_Thursday 4 February  
10:15pm_

Hermione stood face-first under the spray of the shower, holding her breath and letting it drench her hair. 

Draco. Malfoy.

She stepped back at last and grabbed her shampoo. The bottle was almost empty. She had to do the cap-and-shake routine to get enough out to create some lather. 

She wished she could scrub her brain clean. 

Yes, she had dirty thoughts, just like anyone else. She liked to think that maybe they weren't as dirty as some people's. Definitely not as dirty as Lavender Brown's. Well. Maybe not.

In a temper, she threw down the now completely empty shampoo bottle and started to scrub her scalp.

There were so many unanswered questions. Whose list had Malfoy found? How? Where? And how had he connected all of those dots? The questions had raced through her mind in the library, but then he had pulled that 'dirty girl' business, and it was like her brain totally shut down.

What was wrong with her, that she enjoyed being called a dirty girl?

So maybe sometimes when she masturbated, she thought about being taken roughly. Maybe sometimes she thought about having her hair pulled. Maybe even being called a slut. There was nothing wrong with being called names, she supposed, if it was done in the right spirit. 

She pressed her forearms against the tile of the shower, burying her soapy head in her arms. But how could Malfoy ever call her names in the right spirit? Granted, it had been a few years since he'd called her any names at all. Not the especially hurtful ones, anyway. It didn't excuse past wrongs, but she liked to think that growing up and going through a war had given them a working respect for each other. Of course, up until two weeks ago, that had mostly entailed staying out of each other's way.

Who was she kidding? Malfoy didn't respect her. That was fine, because she didn't respect him, either.

She rinsed her hair and stood under the spray for a long time after the suds were gone.

She could still hear his voice: _You, Granger, are obviously a very dirty girl._

He didn't know the half of it. There were things that she wouldn't let herself think even here in the shower. They were horrible things that no self-respecting woman of intelligence and pride would ever consider. She really only considered them on the brink of orgasm. And they never failed to get her off. But those things were just fantasies. Their power resided in their sheer _wrongness_. 

Kind of like Malfoy. Malfoy was supposed to be one of those wrong things that she fantasized about from time to time. He did unmentionable things to her in those fantasies. She liked those things. She got off. And then she went on about her business, a healthier and happier person for it, and he was none the wiser.

And she had thrown everything out of balance when she picked him for this game. If she really thought about this, she would have to confront the fact that she had not chosen Malfoy because he was despicable and therefore unlikely to tempt her. Rather – and this was the dirtiest thought of all – he tempted her because he was despicable. It gave him a license to do and say all of those fantasy things that she couldn't confess to wanting.

And, honestly, despicable was too strong a word. Wasn't it?

She shook herself and moved onto her conditioner, mindlessly working it through her ends.

What she really couldn't figure out was how Malfoy had looked at a nameless list with a few items crossed out and gone from there to 'Competition Between Granger, Brown, and Parkinson.' But when she thought about it, she supposed it wasn't too hard to put the pieces together, if a person had been watching and paying attention. And of course he had been suspicious from the beginning, so of course he had been watching. So of course he had seen Pansy at the Gryffindor table several times. And Lavender was… Lavender.

It had to be Lavender's list that he had found. She couldn't see Pansy giving up the game. Pansy had to know that telling Malfoy about the list would be as good as guaranteeing he would attack the task with a vengeance. But Hermione had no trouble envisioning Lavender leaving the list lying around. And after they had warned her and everything!

But for some reason, Hermione didn't feel like it was worth confronting Lavender about it. Lavender wouldn't have intentionally shown the list to him or anyone else, right? She probably didn't realize that Malfoy had snuck a peek. And it was just a silly game. So what if he'd seen it? What did it really matter? It wasn't like there had been much of a chance she would get the kiss, anyway.

Wait a minute… Malfoy had seen the list, yes, and he had figured out that it was a contest of sorts. But how did he know that the kiss was required? She grinded her teeth. It had to be Pansy. Pansy had told him about the kiss. She slapped her palm against the wet tile. Just how long had he known about the kiss? She knew Pansy was trying to sabotage her!

God, what was wrong with her? Is this what happened when one hung around with Slytherins? She was getting paranoid. And confused. She shook her head and told herself that it didn't matter. None of this mattered. It probably wouldn't be so bad if she didn't get the kiss. Hermione doubted the effect of the curse would be anything other than mildly annoying. She'd had the face and tail of a cat and the front teeth of a beaver, and she'd lived. And those were on the very mild side. She'd also just survived a war.

So basically, she didn't have to indulge Malfoy at all. He was making a big assumption if he thought he could bribe her into finishing the list by holding that kiss over her head. He had to know that she wouldn't play along. 

Hermione rinsed the conditioner from her hair, wincing at the slimy residue it left down her back. She turned off the shower and reached for her towel.

He never had to know that she _wanted_ to play along.

* * *

_Saturday 6 February  
9:31am_

Draco lounged complacently in his conjured hammock. Granger now knew just where to find him on Saturday mornings. He was sure she would be here any minute to continue their fun.

He'd often wondered what it would be like to fool around on a hammock. He'd also pondered the idea of sex in a two-seater swing, but he wasn't sure he'd get another chance at that one. Okay, so maybe he had a garden furniture kink. Whatever. He'd be damned if he was going to conjure a bed for her.

He closed his eyes and slipped his hand into his trousers. It wouldn't hurt to enjoy himself a bit while he waited. And Granger had given him plenty of material. He couldn't believe she let him get her off right there in the library. And he couldn't believe the way she tossed her head back on his shoulder and tried not to moan… and the way she had already soaked her knickers before he even touched her… and the way she bucked against his hand like she couldn't get enough, the way her tight cunt clenched around his fingers, and how very much he wanted to feel that on his cock….

He licked his palm and stroked himself with more purpose. God, he wanted to fuck her brains out. That damn list. Blaise was right. If Draco had a choice, he'd skip right to the big event this very moment. He thought he might even forgo a blow job to get himself inside her… fist his hand in her hair and watch his cock slide in and out of her…. He could just see Granger bent over a desk, begging for his cock… begging him to fuck her harder, faster….

No, no, he had to get his head in the game. He pulled his hand out of his trousers and fisted it in the ropes of the hammock. After Valentine's Day, he could fuck her. But for now, he had to get moving on that list.

It really should have been a warning sign that he was beginning to think about post-bet activities. This was clearly just a game, for both of them, and it would be over in a week. Of course, he'd be a liar if didn't acknowledge that he had been fully enjoying himself. And it's not like it would hurt the tarnished Malfoy name to be seen in the company of a war heroine. And he supposed she really wasn't as intolerable as he'd once thought she was… or, at least, she knew how to have fun, even if he had to drag her into it kicking and screaming. 

Yeah, all right. He could acknowledge all that. Acting on it was a different story. He was going to finish the list, have a fabulous time doing so, collect his fifty Galleons, and stuff the memory in his wank bank for rainy days. There were plenty of people who wanted to fuck him. Being an eighth year made him a veritable god in the castle, and he'd been taking full advantage of it. Why waste his time on Hermione Granger?

There was no good answer to that question… or at least, none that he wanted to ponder at the moment. For now, it was good enough that he had ensured she would come to him. Any minute now, in fact, she'd open that door and get to work earning that required kiss.

Any minute now.

* * *

_Saturday 6 February  
8:40pm_

Lavender should have never shown Zabini the list. Now he was like a man possessed. 

_Love bites._ Check.

 _Hands on bare breasts._ Check.

 _Basic nipple play._ Check.

 _Hands down knickers._ Check.

 _Frottage, clothed._ Check.

Tonight he was stretched out on a sofa, and she was lying between his legs with her nude back against his fully clothed front, as he had suggested. Her arms were stretched up and wrapped around his neck, as he had insisted. She wasn't supposed to move them, even as he toyed with her nipples and grazed his fingertips over her mound and slipped his long fingers between her legs.

 _Fingering._ Check.

Yeah, it felt good. Of course it felt good. Parkinson was crazy. Zabini deserved every bit of the hype regarding his prowess. He had obviously had a lot of practice with his fingers. 

But she missed the feather. She missed his long, lush descriptions of what he wanted to do to her. And she was perplexed by his refusal to remove any piece of his clothing.

"Zabini?" It was amazing she could speak at all right now. Still, she refused to use his first name because that was not the sort of thing they were doing here.

"Yes, my love?" Zabini and his silly endearments. Maybe his words were genteel, but his fingers were one hundred percent Knockturn Alley. He used one hand to spread her folds wide open for him, while the other took advantage of the position with relaxed skill.

Oh no, now he was doing that thing again. Lavender bit her lip to keep from squealing. He administered feather-light taps directly to her clitoris, and he dared her to move her hips. And he kept it up without changing the speed or the pressure at all, until release unexpectedly washed over her, and she shook from head to toe. 

She gasped for breath. Unbelievable. That was number two. 

He chuckled. He really was twisted. She might even call him sleazy. He went back to leisurely pumping two fingers in and out of her. 

Okay, that was normal stuff. She could think a little more clearly when he was doing that. "We don't have to do everything on the list, you know."

"Now, Lavender," he purred to her, but his tone had an impatient edge to it. "My reputation is on the line here, thanks to your little game."

She rolled her eyes. Yeah, Zabini was all about appearances.

"How is it going to look if Longbottom gets farther than I do?" 

He really didn't get it, did he? Sure, the three girls compared notes, and maybe Parkinson was overly competitive, but the fun was in playing the game – meaning getting some action. She rolled her eyes. Boys.

"And it's such a shame, really," Zabini continued. His voice had lost the impatience and was once again silky. "There are so many things I'd rather be doing to you. Things that aren't on the list."

Lavender's heart rate doubled. There were so many things that she hadn't suggested for the list. Hermione and Parkinson probably would have been disgusted. "What kinds of things?" she asked curiously.

"Well, frankly," he whispered, his voice all honey, "I think you deserve a spanking for putting me into this position."

He was sick. She swallowed thickly. And so was she. "A spanking?"

"That's right." His hand kept up the teasing touch. "And who knows? Maybe after Valentine's Day, when we can move at a more leisurely pace, I'll give you one."

Lavender bucked against his hand, and he didn't stop her.

"I'll catch you when you least suspect it. And I'll bend you over my knee. And I'll give you exactly what you deserve. And if you lose count, or if you cry out, I'll just have to start all over again." He paused, both his words and his hand. "Is it my imagination, or did you just get even wetter?"

"It's not your imagination," she replied, her breath shaky. "Although I love your imagination."

He nuzzled his lips against her ear. "Why, thank you, pet."

Zabini had serious control issues. She enjoyed being on the submissive end of the equation. But for once, she would like to see him lose control.

She pulled away from him, turning so that she knelt between his legs. He gave her a surprised look, but he didn't reprimand her.

"I want—" She stopped.

"Yes?" He raised one eyebrow.

"Maybe I could suck your cock." She ran her hand over his erection, massaging it over his trousers.

"Ah." He wrapped his hand around her wrist and smoothly switched their positions until she was lying beneath him. "Would you like that?"

"Yes." She gave him a devious smile. "I think you would like it, too."

"I'm sure I would," he said, kissing his way down her belly. "But not tonight."

His destination was unmistakable. He lingered for a moment over her navel, and then his lips worked their way down her hip. She squeaked when he sucked on the inside of her thigh.

"I could give you a hand job," she tried desperately. How could he turn that down? And if he did, why?

"Tempting," he said mildly. "But I think I'd rather do this."

 _Cunnilingus._ Check.

* * *

_Monday 8 February  
7:39am_

Granger never showed up Saturday morning. And she had ignored Draco all day on Sunday. By Monday morning, he was starting to get nervous about his progress on the list. This bribery thing didn't work without her unwilling participation. But even now, she sat with her back to him in the Great Hall.

He briefly entertained the fantasy of crawling underneath the Gryffindor table and pushing her skirt up to her waist and burying his head between her legs. He imagined teasing her with his tongue while she sat there and tried not squirm and tried to pay attention to whatever inane nonsense Potter and Weasley were rambling on about... trying not to let on that their arch enemy was seconds from giving her a blinding orgasm….

God, he was hard as a rock. Again.

"Not hungry?"

Draco turned to find Blaise giving him a curious look. Draco cleared his throat. “Not really," he responded, realizing that he had been holding a piece of toast above his plate for several minutes. He dropped it, rubbing the crumbs from his fingers.

He knew what was coming before Blaise opened his mouth again, and sure enough—

"Don't worry, Draco. I'll let you pay me off in installments." Blaise dropped his voice until it was a low purr. "Or maybe even in exchange."

Draco picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. Obviously the smug bastard had enjoyed a fruitful weekend and now wanted to rub it in his face. He turned to Blaise with a lazy smirk, determined not to rise to the baiting. “Don’t tell me you finally decided to start using your hands.”

“Oh, that’s not all I’ve been using,” Blaise replied in a honeyed voice, licking jam from the edge of his toast.

What a ponce. Okay, so maybe Draco was a little jealous – of Blaise’s progress, of course. “Let’s see your list, then,” Draco drawled. Actually, he was glad this had come up. Without access to Granger's list, he was working in the dark. He couldn't remember exactly what they had left to do.

“You first.”

Yeah, Draco should have expected that much. He sniffed, adding more sugar to his coffee. “I’m afraid I’ve been too… pleasantly occupied to worry with logistics just yet.”

A faint smile crept across Blaise’s lips. “You haven’t gotten a copy of the list.” 

“ _Yet_ ,” Draco repeated through his teeth. He shrugged. “But if you’re too ashamed to show me yours….”

Blaise pulled his folded parchment from his pocket and tossed it on the table with an elegant flick of his wrist. “Not at all,” he purred.

They kept their gazes locked as Draco unfolded the parchment. After a long moment, he looked down.

Draco tried not to show his surprise. Blaise had indeed been busy. He was only lacking three things, though Draco was pleased to see that he had Blaise beat on one of those things. He took a moment to fondly recall the way Granger’s fingers had wrapped around his cock.

No time for that just now, though. Draco started from the top of the list, counting off the things he was still lacking. Obviously they hadn’t kissed. And as much as he wanted to, he hadn’t touched her breasts. He felt like kicking himself. He’d had the perfect opportunity in the library and hadn’t even taken advantage of it.

“Well?” Blaise prodded.

“Shut up, I’m counting,” Draco countered.

 _Mutual masturbation._ Somehow he thought it unlikely they would get around to that one. What did that mean, anyway? Did that mean that they wanked each other off? Or did it mean they wanked in front of each other? It looked like Granger would have been more specific. Oh well, at least Blaise wasn’t having any luck on that one, either.

 _Cunnilingus_ and _fellatio_. Those were biggies. Blaise had done the former but not the latter. In fact—

“Zabini.” Draco considered the uncrossed items. “Have you so much as unzipped your trousers?”

“Of course not. I'm saving the last three for Saturday night." Then he turned and gave Draco a suggestive grin. "I don't want to scare her away, do I?"

“Or make her laugh,” Draco muttered. It was a feeble insult. They both knew that Blaise had nothing to be ashamed of. Of course, neither did Draco. God, were they really going there again? 

“Now, Draco, if memory serves—“

“So, it appears you’re making progress,” Draco interrupted him. “But so am I.” He refolded the parchment and tossed it back with a smirk. “In fact, you've only eased my mind." Only a good Slytherin upbringing and years of practice kept him from revealing that he was now even more nervous than before.

“Is that so?” Blaise nevertheless gave him a doubting look as he returned the parchment to his pocket.

“Looks like an even tie as of this moment.” Draco could justify the small white lie. It was close enough to a tie. The kiss was a technicality, and a necessity at this point. And the breast thing was just a combination of bad luck and oversight, soon to be remedied. To prove he wasn’t rattled, Draco went to work smearing jam on his toast with relish.

He could feel Blaise watching him. “You’ve had your face between Granger’s legs.” Draco hated it when Blaise asked questions without the proper intonation.

Also, he really wished that topic would stop coming up while he was sitting at breakfast and couldn’t do anything about it. “And her hand on my dick,” he evaded. “Which is more than you can say.”

Blaise narrowed his eyes. “Bondage?” 

“Done.” He felt no desire to share details regarding that one, but the memory of it was making him even harder. At this rate, he was going to have to wank off before Transfiguration.

“Ah, but I seriously doubt you’ve gotten to the mutual masturbation,” Blaise said, a curious gleam in his eye.

Best not to take the lying too far. “I’ll admit that one’s tricky,” Draco replied, rubbing his chin. “But entirely possible. In fact, I would call it probable at this point.”

“If you say so,” Blaise said. He lowered his voice and leaned in. Draco could see small crinkles at the outer edges of his slanting eyes. “But there’s no way you’ve gotten the blow job.”

Draco kept his eyes on Blaise as he wiped his hands on his napkin. Then he folded his arms on the table, leaning even closer. “Granger is gagging for my cock,” he drawled, feeling said cock twitch at the thought of it.

“That so?” He thought he saw Blaise’s gaze momentarily drop to his lips. “Brown will be gagging by Saturday night. Make no mistake about that.”

Draco’s voice got even softer. “I’m going to keep Granger’s mouth occupied for hours.”

Blaise hummed. “Brown is going to beg me to come all over her face.”

Fuck, that was hot. Draco wished he’d thought to say it first. “Yeah? Well, Granger is going to swallow every drop and beg to lick me clean.”

That thought hung silently between them for a moment, the air thin. And then, at the same time, they sat up straight and moved away from each other. Blaise started peeling an orange. Draco sipped on his cold coffee.

“So exactly what else are you still lacking?” Blaise inquired, his tone now conversational.

Draco chuckled. “Granger’s going to earn the kiss,” he replied. He chanced a look at Blaise and found him studying Draco from the corner of his eye. “And she _really_ wants that kiss.” He hoped so, anyway. He was counting on it.

“You’re a brute,” Blaise sneered. “No subtlety at all.”

Draco was offended. He had plenty of subtlety. “Look what I’m working with!” he responded. “Honestly, I should get double points.”

“You did say you wanted a fight,” Blaise reminded him.

“Exactly,” Draco said. “You play your game, Zabini. And I’ll play mine.”

The time had undoubtedly come to kick that game up a notch.

* * *

_Monday 8 February  
10:40am_

Hermione enjoyed having a free hour on Monday mornings. She dropped her things on a table in the library and headed for the Transfiguration aisle. When she got there, she raised her hand to one of the shelves and ran her fingers down a row of books, looking for McGonagall's latest suggested reading. She wondered if Malfoy had already checked it out. She wondered what Malfoy was doing with his free hour.

There she went thinking about him again. She couldn't be in the library anymore _without_ thinking about him. But it didn't matter. She might be having trouble not thinking about him, but she was doing an excellent job of ignoring him.

Ah, there was the book she needed. She had beat him to it. She eased it from between its neighbors and flipped idly through its heavy vellum pages without paying much attention to its contents. 

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to do just one more thing on the list. She could almost consider it an experiment of sorts. Yes, Malfoy was good at frottage. And yes, his mouth felt quite good on her neck… and breasts. And yes, he had talented fingers. And yes, his penis was magnificent. But there had to be something he wasn't good at. She was willing to bet he wouldn't have a clue what do with his tongue between a girl's legs. After all, this was Malfoy. Arrogant, self-serving Malfoy. In fact, he probably found the act distasteful. He would probably consider it lowering himself to perform oral sex on a girl.

Then again, if he didn't… and if he turned out to be _good_ at it….

She slammed the book shut and headed back to her table. She couldn't risk finding out. She was in deep enough here as it was. In fact, she couldn't believe she'd let herself entertain the thought at all. 

As she approached her table, she saw it, and she felt a thrill of dread. Or maybe it was excitement. 

There was a rolled-up parchment lying on her bag. She looked around, but there was no one in this area of the library. It was the middle of the morning, after all. She tossed down the book and began unrolling the parchment, her fingers shaking.

_Tonight  
9pm  
My practice classroom_

She took a deep breath and held it, pressing her eyes closed. She supposed it couldn't hurt to show up. Just to hear what he had to say. She could always leave.

She exhaled heavily. Assuming she wanted to.

At that thought, she made up her mind. This couldn't go on. She would just have to show up tonight and tell him so.

* * *

_Monday 8 February  
8:25pm_

Of all the bad things in the world, Pansy thought that one of the worst had to be agreeing with Granger on anything. But she had to admit that Granger had been right about this frottage business. It was brilliant. And like everything else, Neville was much better at it than she had imagined he would be.

Pansy had never had a real boyfriend before. Draco didn't count. They had only ever kissed. And that was a long time ago.

Er… not that Neville was her boyfriend or anything. But she had definitely gone farther with him than she had with any other boy.

And now he was between her legs – trousers safely fastened as always – and they were writhing against each other, and she could feel his thing against her. And she wondered….

"Neville?"

He stopped moving abruptly, his lips letting go of her neck. "What?" he panted. "Are you okay with this?"

She made every effort to keep from rolling her eyes. "Yes, of course," she replied. She bit her lip and gave him a small smile. "This feels good."

He gave her an even bigger smile. "Yeah."

He started back with that delicious motion of his hips as though he couldn't help himself. One of his hands cradled her head, and the other gently fondled her breast.

"I've been thinking," she began. He froze again as the words left her mouth. "Why did you stop?"

"Because, Pansy," he whispered, "it makes me a little nervous when you think."

"Oh, fiddle-dee-dee!" she said with a laugh. "There's nothing to be nervous about."

He stared down at her, his brow furrowing. His hair was all over the place, and she threaded her fingers through it. "Okay," he said. "What were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking I might like to—" She took a deep breath. "—touch you."

He looked confused. "You are touching me."

"No." She stared at his eyes, raising her eyebrows and willing him to understand what she meant so that she wouldn't have to say it aloud. " _Touch you._ "

His eyes narrowed. "You mean…." She could practically see him thinking. "Oh!" And then he went red. He was between her legs, with one hand still toying absently with her nipple over her bra, yet he went red. "Whoa."

She felt herself blushing a bit, too. "Would that be all right with you?"

"Er… I mean, that is to say… are you—"

"If you ask me if I'm sure, I'm going to vomit!" she exclaimed.

"Sorry!"

"And if you say sorry one more time, I'm going to punch you!"

He looked scared. She thought it was cute that he believed her threats. "Er… what do you want me to say then?"

"Nothing. Just… sit up."

He reluctantly obeyed. They both had their shirts off, and she took a moment to admire his upper body. Maybe Neville Longbottom had at one time been a bit pudgy, but those days were gone. He had broad shoulders and a finely formed chest with a light dusting of sandy hair.

He looked like such a grown-up man now. She couldn't believe she was going to do this. It was obvious that he didn't believe it, either. He was looking at her with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

He gasped when she moved to straddle him, and his eyes were as wide as saucers when she started unfastening his trousers. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her fingers from shaking so badly.

This was it. His trousers were open. He wore – she peeked inside – boxers with clownfish on them. Interesting choice. They should have looked childish, but somehow he looked more masculine than ever in them. 

All right, maybe she was stalling here.

She looked up to find him biting his lip. She thought it might be best if she started on the outside of his boxers, so that's what she did. Her hand fumbled a bit until she found the right angle, and when she did, he released a strange, high-pitched sound. He felt… weird. "It's so hard," she whispered. And then she felt – oh! "Did it just… twitch?"

"Yeah," he replied breathlessly, still blushing. "That happens sometimes."

She giggled. He was looking at her as though she held his world in her hands, and well, she supposed she did. She giggled again. His expression encouraged her. She tugged at the waistband of his boxers, trying to hold them out of the way with her wrist as her hand dipped beneath them, and she felt hot, hard, velvety soft flesh. Neville slammed his eyes shut, hissing through his teeth. There was a strange lump. That must be… the head? Was it supposed to feel like that?

"That feels weird," she said, and for a moment she almost lost her courage. But she had come this far. She might as well get her hand on it properly. It was hard to do that when she was trying not to look at it, but she soldiered on. Something did not seem right here….

"That's…" She paused, her heart beating loudly in her ears. Something was definitely not right. She jerked his boxers down, and he yelped. "What the hell?" she cried.

"What?" His voice was frantic.

Pansy just stared at his crotch. "What the hell is _that_?"

"What's wrong with it?" His voice broke. 

"What's wrong with? What do mean _what's wrong with it_? It's… it's… well, look at it!"

He looked down, his face now white with horror, and then looked back up at her. "Well… I mean… I didn't think there was anything wrong with it. I mean… what did you expect?"

"What did I expect?" she nearly screamed. "How about normal human proportions?"

Now he looked a bit angry. "I'm perfectly normal!" he insisted.

"Just…" She hopped off his lap, almost tripping, and grabbed her shirt. It took her several attempts to put it on before she realized that she was trying to put her head through an armhole. "I'm leaving now," she announced.

"No! Wait!" He started to stand up, but Pansy couldn't look because his trousers were still open, and that thing was right out there, bobbing around. "I'll put it away, I promise. Don't leave!"

But she was already out the door. She wondered if anyone else knew that Neville Longbottom was hung like a bloody centaur.

* * *

_Monday 8 February  
9:12pm_

“I assume you wanted to see me about the list.”

Granger stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed.

Draco relaxed back into the conjured sofa, twirling his wand and letting his gaze roll over her. He hadn’t entirely expected her to show up. But there she stood, dressed casually in jeans and a jumper, scruffy trainers on her feet, her hair pinned up messily. He wondered if she was _trying_ to look unattractive. Didn’t matter. The whole idea was to get her out of those clothes.

“And here you are. Albeit—” He checked his pocket watch. “—thirteen minutes late.”

She just stared.

Draco patted the cushion next to his, but she refused to close the door or move too far away from it. God, how was he supposed to work with this? There wasn’t much left to do on the list, and he wasn’t a total prat. He’d planned to do the thing he thought she’d like the most. 

Granger looked down at the floor for a few long moments. Then her chin snapped up and her jaw clenched. “I just came here to tell you that I’m finished playing,” she announced. “No more list, no more kiss, no more—“ Her eyes dropped to his crotch. “—any of this.”

Okay, he’d give her an ‘E’ for effort. He crossed one leg over the other at the ankle and watched her eyes snap back up. “I thought the kiss was required,” he pointed out.

“I’ve decided to suffer the consequences,” she informed him stoically.

"Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that," he remarked, squinting at her curiously. "What happens if you don’t get the kiss?"

Her eyes darted to the side, and her shoulders drooped slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

“Well?” he prodded.

She just stood there, looking at him. And then he remembered what Pansy had said that evening outside of the Prefect’s bathroom, when she’d told him that Granger was desperate for a kiss: _I made sure she would be._ It would be just like Pansy to not reveal the consequences.

“Well, well,” he said, his wand motionless in his grasp. “You don’t know, do you?”

She turned her head to the side, studying the wall.

Draco sat up. This was fascinating. “So you mean to tell me—“

She whirled around to leave, and he acted quickly, pointing his wand around her and slamming, locking, and silencing the door. She stopped but didn’t move to release his spell.

“Come on, Granger,” he drawled, “we both know you don’t really want to go anywhere or you wouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

He saw her shoulders move on a huff. So she was just going to stand there with her back to him? Not if he could help it. He rose from the sofa, pocketing his wand and sauntering in her direction.

“I just want to make sure I understand,” he said, and he could see her tense at the sound of his footsteps. “You agreed to play this little game with your friends, knowing full well that you had to get a kiss. With tongue. From me.” He was right behind her now. “And you were either so flippant or so cocky that you went into it without knowing what would happen if you failed?”

At that, she whirled around, her face flushed. “It’s a kiss!” she spat. “How hard could it be to get a kiss?”

“Well. Now you know.” He backed her against the door. “Tell me something.”

Oh, the look she was giving him. She wanted to be mad. She wanted to be furious and blame him and probably grab him by the shirt and shake him. But she also wanted him. He could see it. Why couldn’t she just give in to it? 

“If you could do anything right now with me,” he asked curiously, “what would you do?”

She wet her lips, studying the collar of his shirt. “If I had my way,” she started, as though she were about to recite a piece of text in class, “you would give me that kiss. And then I would go back to the common room, read a chapter in _The Standard Book of Spells_ , knit a few pairs of socks, and call it a night.”

Damn. He knew Granger was uptight. But _really_? Those are the kinds of things she told herself? He placed his hand on the door by her shoulder, leaning in. “Well, you’ve got me. I don’t see how oral sex can compete with that.” 

At that, she lifted her gaze. There was an imploring look in her eyes that made him pause. Out of nowhere, he wanted to crush his mouth against Granger's and bruise her lips with his. He wanted to devour her.

"Malfoy," she whispered. "I can’t keep doing this."

"Stop it," he said through clenched teeth. "You’re boring me." This was really taking it out of him. In fact, he found that he was beginning to get annoyed, both at himself and at her. "Of course you can keep doing this. You think too much."

The imploring look turned into an accusatory one. She was getting annoyed, too. "Why are _you_ doing this?" she demanded.

"Why? _Why?_ " Why the hell did she _think_ he was doing this? "Are you serious?"

"Yes," she said, raising her chin again, "I’m serious."

"Because I want you, Granger!" He could hear his own voice ring out in the room. He realized as he said it that it was true, and that he would be here right now even if there were no bet. There was no way he could ever let her know that. He lowered his voice again, drawling, "Because I want to make you moan. I want to make you come."

She regarded him suspiciously. "No, you just want to prove that you can."

He chuckled quietly and leaned down so that they were eye to eye. "We already know that I can."

Granger raised her hands to push him away, and he grabbed her wrists without even thinking about it, trapping them against the door. Her eyes widened briefly, and then her face screwed up in anger as she tried to escape. 

"All you care about is crossing more items off that list!" she cried.

"What does it matter?" He could feel her heartbeat in her wrists. "It’s not like you’re not going to get anything out of it."

"It matters to me!"

Draco pulled away suddenly, dropping her hands. She rubbed her wrists, but she didn't go anywhere. "What the hell do you want from me?" He stared at her, confused and maybe a bit alarmed. "Are you saying that this is about _more_ than that list to you?

"What? Of course not," she replied, looking truly startled. "But it might be nice if you showed some respect for me."

Draco couldn't quite figure out how the conversation had ended up here. He respected her well enough. At the very least, he respected what she could do with a wand. Why did she have to turn this into some big festival of emotions? "Maybe I would respect you more if you would admit what you want instead of acting so self-righteous all the time!" He'd admitted that he wanted her. Why couldn't she do the same? "Just stop thinking and admit what you want!"

"What I _want_?" she countered. "You haven't given me much of a choice, have you?" 

That was a low blow, and he wasn't going to stand for it. "Don't give me that," he bit out. "It makes you a hypocrite. I was there in the library. Nobody forced you to come all over my hand."

She made a high-pitched noise, but he continued, his voice rising.

"And nobody’s forcing you to be here right now. And nobody forced you to pick me, and you had to know I wasn’t going to make things easy on you. In fact, it's almost like that's what you _wanted_."

At that, she looked explosive, but he didn't want to hear what she had to say, so he kept going, his voice now echoing off the stone walls.

"And _don’t_ point the finger at me for refusing to give you a kiss that I never signed up for in the first place. And don't blame me for wanting to get something out of it. You know exactly who am I, and you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into!"

Granger stared at him with her mouth open, and he stared back, his chest heaving, his blood pounding in his ears. And then he made up his mind. "And I fully intend to get something out of it," he spat, and with that, he bent down and grabbed her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder. He grunted, heading for the sofa. Either Granger was not as light as she looked, or he was not as fit as he thought. And he realized that he had just resorted to troll-like behavior, but if this was what it took—

"Malfoy!" she was screaming, but her squirming seemed to be mostly for show. "What are you doing? Put me down!"

That's exactly what he did. He tossed her onto the couch and immediately straddled her legs, easily pinning her wrists in one hand when she tried to push him away. It was obvious her heart wasn't in it. He lifted her hands over her head and threaded his fingers into her hair.

"Shh," he whispered, even though she wasn't verbally protesting anymore. She looked too surprised to say anything at all. But she did buck up against him, and he closed his eyes, trying to stay in control. Somewhere during that exchange, he had gotten painfully aroused. He opened his eyes again to find her staring at him, eyes wide and lips parted, and again, he wanted to kiss her so badly that he couldn't stand it. 

Instead, he moved his hand until he was cupping her jaw, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. "Here’s what I want you to do, Granger," he said, very softly. "I want you to look me in the eyes and say, _Draco, I do not want you to lick my twat._ "

She gasped at the crude word and her cheeks started to flush, just as he had hoped they would.

"That’s all you have to do," he continued, "and we’ll call this whole thing off." He pressed his thumb sharply into her chin. "I mean it. I’ll give you that kiss right now, and you can run along and do your knitting like you _want_ to." He leaned down, his lips against her ear. " _Say it._ "

She was silent.

"Say it," he repeated. He could feel the heat in her cheeks. He could feel her rapid breaths against his jaw. It would be so easy to turn his head and kiss her. He wondered what would happen if he did. He didn't want to risk finding out.

"Draco." Her voice was firm.

He pulled back, looking her in the eyes. God, he hoped she didn't say it. "Go on, then," he urged her.

She wet her lips. "Draco—" Softer this time.

He waited. His whole body roared with need, but he waited. And then he couldn't take it any longer. "Granger, I’m starting to lose my patience," he snapped, his grip tightening on her wrists. "Tell me you don’t want it."

She opened her mouth to speak. She took a deep breath and held it. And then, in a quiet voice, she confessed, "I can’t."

Finally. "That’s right," he said, feeling his blood race through him like lava. "You can’t."

And at that, he proceeded to show Hermione Granger that he could do so much more with his tongue than throw insults.


	7. Words all fail the magic prize

_Tuesday 9 February  
7:24pm_

The girls had been in their study session for over twenty minutes, and no one had spoken a word. Hermione had finally gotten her wish and no longer cared about it. Funny how those things work.

Pansy appeared to be on edge. She was sitting up so straight that she looked like a puppet on a string. She kept flipping pages and staring at the text in front of her, but Hermione could not see her eyes moving.

Lavender had her cheek propped on her hand, her face contorted from the pressure on it. She looked like she was about to fall asleep.

Hermione was trying very hard not to think about the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago, Draco Malfoy's mouth had been between her legs, giving her two of the best orgasms she had ever experienced. 

Yes, their cubicle was totally silent. And then—

"Neville Longbottom has an enormous cock," Pansy said, entirely out of nowhere.

"What?!" Lavender spat, sitting up so quickly that her chair rocked precariously on two feet.

Hermione stared. "Well, that's one way to break the ice."

"I don't think you understand," Pansy said, dropping her quill and rubbing her hand over her face. "There's normal, and then there's big, and then there's huge, and then there's Neville Longbottom's cock. Here." She took out a piece of fresh parchment. "I will draw it actual size."

And she did, and it was a good eight inches long. Maybe more. She was obviously exaggerating.

Lavender looked like she might start cackling, if she could only get over her astonishment. "No. Way."

"Yes way," Pansy said, balling up the parchment. "I'm a little freaked out."

"Why?" Lavender asked. "You're the one who wants three fingers. The bigger the better, right?" She paused, but Pansy said nothing. "Right?" she tried again.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Pansy finally mumbled.

"Well, go on," Lavender nudged. "Let's see your list, then."

Pansy took it out of her bag and unfolded it, laying it on the table for them to see. At this point, it made more sense to look at what _wasn't_ crossed off:

> _Mutual masturbation  
>  Bondage  
>  Cunnilingus  
>  Fellatio  
>  Ear-whispering_

"You really should try the ear-whispering," Hermione told her.

Lavender giggled as she read over the list. "Parkinson, you are the most vanilla person I've ever met."

"Vanilla?"

"Not kinky," Hermione explained. Honestly, one would think Pansy Parkinson was a virgin or something.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Lavender looked at the list more closely. "Why is fingering kind of crossed out?"

"Because he kind of fingered me," Pansy muttered.

"Did you get interrupted?" Lavender asked, obviously confused about how someone could get 'kind of' fingered.

"Yeah," Pansy said, shifting in her seat, "something like that."

"That's disappointing," Lavender said.

"Yeah." She sat up straighter. "So. My goal is to get some oral sex before Valentine's Day. And I'll trust you on the ear-whispering, Granger. You were right about the frottage." When Hermione looked surprised, she said, "Oh, give over. Yes, I just said you were right about something." Then she studied her own list. "But the rest…." She looked uncertain.

"What's the matter?" Hermione sneered. "I thought you were going to wipe the floor with our arses."

"I don't know," Pansy replied airily, tucking her list away. "The whole thing seems a bit pedestrian to me now. I'm having fun. Why spoil it doing things I don't really care to do?"

"I wish you'd had that attitude from the beginning," Hermione bit out. "Some of us didn't want to do any of this in the first place, you know."

Pansy put out her hands, palms up. "Are you telling me that you're still not having fun, Granger? Do you even know the meaning of the word?"

"I would be having fun," Hermione said slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "if I could get that kiss."

Pansy shook her head. "Let me get this straight—"

"You have it straight, Parkinson," Hermione snapped. "There's no need to announce it to the library." She paused for a moment, glaring. "And it's all your fault."

"Not that again," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. "All right, how is it my fault?"

Hermione crossed her arms. "Malfoy knows about the kiss."

"Oh. Oops." Pansy did not look sorry at all.

"What do you mean, _Oops_?" Hermione demanded. "How long has he known?"

"I don't really remember," Pansy replied, waving her hand dismissively. When Hermione continued to glare, she straightened up defensively. "Give me some credit. I didn't come right out and _tell_ him."

"Obviously you didn't have to!" Hermione exclaimed. "And now that he knows about it, the contrary git won't give it to me!"

Pansy snickered. "Yeah, that's Draco."

And here Hermione turned her glare on Lavender. "Not until I finish the rest of the list."

Lavender shifted uneasily in her seat, as well she should. "What? Did you tell him about the list?"

"No," Hermione gritted. "I didn't. He _says_ that he found one of the lists."

"It wasn't mine," Pansy said, raising her palms.

"I… er…." Lavender stuttered, blushing. "Well, maybe it was mine."

"Why am I not surprised?" Hermione shot back. "Anyway, none of this would matter except for the fact that we still don't know what happens if we don't get the kiss."

"Oh my god!" Pansy groaned. "Look. We didn't put money on this, right? We had to have something to make it interesting!" 

"Oh, it's been interesting," Hermione agreed. "No doubt about that. Now tell me how much more interesting it's going to get on Sunday at noon."

"Pfft, it's nothing to be worried about," Pansy said. She ducked her head, a truly evil grin spreading across her lips. "Yeah, there's a spell, but it's teeny-tiny. You might even like it."

Hermione huffed. "I might like it?"

"I'm just saying." Pansy looked at Hermione as though she were one of Hagrid's creature experiments. "You Gryffindors are a kinky bunch."

" _Gryffindors_ are kinky?" Hermone countered. "We're not the only ones." She unfolded her parchment and tossed it at Pansy. "Look at this list."

> _Kiss, with tongue  
>  ~~Hands on bare breasts~~  
>  ~~Hands inside knickers~~  
>  Mutual masturbation  
>  ~~Bondage~~  
>  ~~Cunnilingus~~  
>  Fellatio  
>  ~~Ear-whispering~~  
>  ~~Frottage, clothed~~  
>  ~~Hands down pants (his)~~  
>  ~~Basic nipple play~~  
>  ~~Love bites~~  
>  ~~Fingering~~_

"Ten out of thirteen?" Pansy cried. "You are such a slut!"

"I'm just trying to get a damn kiss!"

"Looks like we're even, Hermione," Lavender interrupted.

"So Zabini finally got with the program, did he?" Hermione shot back, still riled up at Pansy.

Lavender pulled the list from her copy of _Unfogging the Future_ and tossed it onto the table as though she would like nothing more than to never see it again.

Pansy unfolded it and studied it with a frown. "Tell me again why we have _fellatio_ and _mutual masturbation_ on here? No one's bothered to do either."

"You're the one who wanted me to add oral sex," Hermione reminded her.

"And I like giving blow jobs," Lavender said, though she was looking truly miserable. "But it's not like I'm ever going to get a chance at giving Zabini one." 

"Why is that?" Hermione asked.

Lavender sighed, twirling her finger in a lock of hair. "Zabini refuses to take his clothes off."

"Weird," Hermione said.

"I knew it!" Pansy exclaimed. "He has a miniscule cock!"

Lavender blew up. "So now everyone else has a miniscule cock? Just because you're dating a tripod?"

"Shh!" Pansy hissed. They were in their private study cubicle, but even so, words like 'cock' tended to ring out in places like libraries. Or anywhere else, really.

"He does not have a miniscule cock," Lavender insisted more quietly. "It's nice. I've felt it through his trousers. And yes, he can get it up, too," she added before Pansy could interrupt her. She bit her lip. "I finally got him to unbutton his shirt. He has a fabulous chest. But he won't even pop the top button on his trousers."

Pansy looked pensive, but the effect was ruined when her lip twitched with amusement. "Do you think he's one of those – what do they call them? – _never-nudes_?"

" _Never-nudes_?" Hermione repeated, laughing in spite of herself.

"You know, those people who have a phobia of being naked," Pansy said, as though this was common knowledge. "They don't even take off their pants when they shower."

"Are you making this up?" Hermione asked.

"No, I heard about it on the WWN," Pansy replied, as though Hermione must have been living under a rock to have never heard of _never-nudes_.

Lavender looked just as skeptical as Hermione felt. "I don't think Zabini is a _never-nude_ ," she said. "I think he has control issues."

Hermione was interested. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" She looked torn, but at last decided to spill. "He always has to be in control." She started blushing again. "This is embarrassing."

"Go on," Pansy urged, but Hermione was sure that the look on her face was not helping matters.

"I mean, bondage is fun and everything," Lavender said abruptly. "But he has to use it every time. And I've offered to blow him, and I've offered to give him a hand job, but he just says he'd rather do… whatever we're doing at the time. And believe me, he is very good at everything we've done, but sometimes…. I don't know." She played with the feather of her quill. "Sometimes I wish I had the chance to make him feel good, too." Then she looked up. "You know?"

Pansy made a sound of pure disgust. "What is it with you Gryffindors? I am not trying to have sex therapy here! This was supposed to be fun! Are the two of you honestly going to sit there and tell me you haven't had any fun at all?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Lavender said. "I've had a blast."

Hermione grinded her teeth as the other two girls gave her an expectant look. "It's been… diverting, yes," she confessed.

Pansy spread her arms, giving her hands a general shake in their direction. "And we all have dates for Valentine's Day, right?"

"As far as I know," Lavender conceded.

"Like it or not," Hermione added.

"Mission accomplished," Pansy said.

* * *

_Wednesday 10 February  
7:47am_

"Watch it with the dirt!" Zabini hissed. "These shoes are expensive!"

"Then you shouldn't have worn them to Herbology," Hermione snapped.

Yeah, she was slinging dirt all over the place. She was sexually frustrated. And it didn't help that she was stuck in Herbology for the next forty-five minutes, repotting Tittering Tulips. Apparently they were hugely popular Valentine's Day gifts.

Even worse, she was paired with Zabini, who made Pansy look like a kid in a sandbox by comparison. He refused to let dirt touch his impeccably manicured hands, so Hermione ended up having to do the scooping. Zabini handled and steadied the plants – albeit, this was not an easy job considering they giggled excitedly when touched.

No matter what she did, Hermione could not stop thinking about Malfoy's hands. His lips. His tongue. His hair. His smirk. His stupid voice. Yes, even his penis. It was ridiculous. She was walking around in a state of perpetual arousal. She kept playing Monday night over and over again in her mind. Obviously that had been his intention.

She could still see Malfoy rolling up his sleeves… pushing her jumper up and pulling her bra cups down… briefly toying with her breasts before moving on to his intended target. She could still feel him jerking both her jeans and knickers down to her ankles and spreading her legs as wide as they would go and licking a long, slow trail from her knee up….

"Granger. Can we finish this pot already and move on?"

She looked up to find Zabini trying to hold the blooms still without crushing them. They were now going into fits of high-pitched cackling. Zabini, on the other hand, did not look amused. She had to admit that the sound was grating.

"Fine," she said, patting the soil down gently around the base of the plant and wiping dirt off the edges. He let go and slid the pot away, and the tulips gave him a dreamy sigh.

"Revolting," he muttered.

Hermione grabbed another pot and started scooping. She could still hear Malfoy's voice. _Come on, Granger, you can do better than that,_ he had taunted her after her first orgasm. _I dare you to come again. No, wait._ And at that, he had placed a single kiss right on top of her mound. _I forbid it._

"I think that's enough," Zabini snapped, and she noticed that the pot was over two-thirds full of dirt. She stopped shoveling and made a hole for the roots, and they continued to work.

Malfoy otherwise had so few redeeming qualities. Of course he was a genius between the sheets. Not that they had come into contact with any sheets yet. But still, everyone had to have something going for them, right? The universe being so cruel, of course Draco Malfoy would be a god of sex.

And it made sense, in a twisted sort of way. There was a perverse selfishness in the act of giving pleasure. She got off, and it fed his pride. She sat around thinking about his tongue, and he won a small victory. He knew all this. He used it to his advantage. It just so happened that it also made her feel good.

"Granger!" Zabini snapped. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

She looked down to find that she had patted down the soil so mindlessly that it was hard as a brick. The tulips were howling in laughter.

"I'm distracted," she mumbled.

"Clearly," he replied. He gave her a scrutinizing look. "I'll just go get more pots, shall I?"

He left, and she looked across the greenhouse, spotting Malfoy. He didn't even bother to hide the fact that he had been staring in their direction. He watched Zabini saunter away, and then he returned his gaze to her. His eyes narrowed almost suspiciously. What was his deal? He was practically acting like a jealous boyfriend. The thought was absurd on so many levels that it threatened to give her a migraine.

Looking around, Hermione spotted Lavender. She was paired with Gregory Goyle, who kept trying to make the giggling worse by tickling the petals. Lavender didn't seem to notice or care. She was unabashedly checking out Zabini's arse as he made his way across the greenhouse.

Then Hermione's eyes fell on Neville and Pansy. Sprout had paired them up for the first time since The Plan went into action, and they appeared to have had a falling out. Pansy was looking down at her handful of Tittering Tulips as though they were mocking her and she was about to burst into tears. Neville shoveled dirt morosely. 

"I wonder how far they've gotten on their list."

Hermione turned to look at Zabini so quickly that she thought she might have pulled a muscle in her neck. He carefully set down a load of ceramic pots and nodded to where she had just been staring. Then, with a smirk, he looked down at her.

Was it worth pretending at this point? Okay. Why not see how much he knew? "What list?" She tried to sound casual – inquisitive, even.

Zabini actually bent down to her level then, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Let's skip the part where you pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, shall we?" He raised one eyebrow, a faint gleam in his eyes.

She ignored his attempt to intimidate her, picking up a fresh pot and getting back to work. This was an interesting turn of events. Who had told him? Lavender or Malfoy? 

When he saw that she wasn't going to play along, he changed tactics, straightening up and slipping back into his usual demeanor of nonchalance. "Poor Longbottom," he went on. "You know, I don't think he has a clue what's going on."

Yeah, Hermione wondered the same thing. Or maybe Pansy had confessed, and that's why they both looked so miserable. 

They worked for a while without speaking, until finally Hermione's curiosity got the best of her. "So Malfoy told you about the list?" she asked. 

"It's still _Malfoy_ , is it?" Amusement was evident in his tone. "I am the one who told _Malfoy_ about the list, my dear."

Hermione considered that. Was it possible that Malfoy had been lying about finding the list? Well, yeah. Of course it was possible. And had she really thought for a moment that Malfoy would discover something so juicy and _not_ run straight to Zabini? Actually, now that she thought about it….

"Did he fail to mention that?" Blaise prodded.

Hermione levitated a fresh bag of potting soil from under the work table. "I suppose he did." She sliced her wand across the top of the bag, leaving a clean opening.

"Then I assume he also failed to mention the bet."

And there it was. She should have realized it last night when Lavender showed them her list. Malfoy's bribe. Zabini's sudden desire to do everything he could while still wearing clothes. Slytherins! Malfoy had successfully and completely turned her brain to mush, and Pansy had made her so angry that she hadn't even made the connection last night. Of course Malfoy and Zabini had put the pieces together between the two of them, and of course they had bet on the outcome. Hermione knew she should probably be angry, but honestly, what right did she have?

"So how much is our debauchery worth to the two of you, then?" she inquired with a smirk.

Zabini looked taken back by her amusement. He also looked a little disappointed. But he continued nonetheless, speaking as though he were discussing the weather. "He bet me fifty Galleons that he could get farther than I could. Of course, he had to get a copy of your list to prove it." He paused and gave her a pointed look. "I hope you have it safely locked away."

Ah. He was trying to sabotage Malfoy. She chuckled. "Oh, believe me," she replied, "Malfoy will not have a copy of the list by Valentine's Day." She knew just how to make sure he didn't.

Zabini seemed satisfied. Hermione glanced back across the greenhouse. Malfoy had now abandoned all pretense of working and was outright glaring at Zabini. He chanced a softer look at Hermione, and she raised one eyebrow at him. His eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he busied himself needlessly straightening the pots they had finished.

"You've got balls, Zabini," Hermione said. "You know I'm going to go straight and tell Lavender about the bet, right?"

"I'm certain you will," he replied. "But I doubt it will dissuade her from continuing." She looked up to find him giving her a faint grin. "She seems enthusiastic about the remaining items."

Hermione chuckled but made no reply.

"I admit I expected a more hostile reaction," Zabini noted, thoughtfully lifting a giggling plant into the pot she had been working on. "But I suppose that would be hypocritical. You know, for someone who authored a list of sexual acts to be consummated with unsuspecting males."

Hermione was startled to realize that he sounded a little bitter. "What's the matter, Zabini?" she taunted him. "Don't tell me there are things on the list that make you uncomfortable." It was too delicious an opportunity to pass up.

Really, she could have gone so much further with it. And she wanted to. She wanted to get right up in Zabini's face, just like he had done to her, and ask him why a boy would feel the need to be fully clothed and fully in control, every single time. But she didn't. He suddenly looked plenty subdued.

He cleared his throat, refusing to rise to her baiting. 

As they continued to work, Hermione could see the warring emotions on his face. He was pleased that Malfoy wasn't going to have a list to present for comparison. At the same time, she could tell that he would have given anything to know who was winning. But he didn't ask, and that endeared him to her so much that she found herself wanting to tell him. After all, he had kindly pointed her in the right direction that Saturday morning.

"You're tied," she said off-handedly.

He gave her an unreadable look, and his handful of tulips giggled with glee.

* * *

_Wednesday 10 February  
8:33am_

Neville stayed behind after class, gathering and cleaning the used Tittering Tulip pots. Pansy hadn't spoken a word to him during class, but when he turned to take an armful of pots to the storage area, he found her lingering.

She was biting her lip. But then she visibly steeled herself, straightening her back and thrusting her chin in the air. "Neville, can we talk?"

Neville stared at her for a moment. Yes, she had gone mental on him Monday night, but he always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. And he kind of missed her. He suddenly realized how very heavy the pots were and set them down on the table between them.

"Okay," he said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to talk about…" She looked down, making spirals with her finger in some of the stray dirt on the table. "…the night before last."

Neville swallowed thickly. "What about it?"

Her voice got really quiet. "I'm s—"

She stopped abruptly, still refusing to look at him. Neville raised his eyebrows. 

Finally she chanced a glance up at him, and though she couldn't say it, he could tell she was sorry. Normally, this is where Neville would make it easier on the offending party. He would wave it off or change the subject. But this time, he kind of wanted to hear those words.

"I feel bad," she said at last. "About just running out on you like that."

"So why did you?" He felt it was perfectly reasonable to want an explanation.

She looked back down, scraping the dirt into little hills. "It's just…."

He waited, but she didn't go on. And suddenly, the frustration that he had been keeping at bay all rushed forward. "You made it seem like I was some kind of freak!"

"I know!" she replied, flustered. "I didn't mean to! I was just… surprised."

"Surprised at what?" he demanded. "I'm perfectly normal!"

She was staring at him apprehensively, but he refused to stop there. He had researched the matter last night. It took some digging (because he definitely wasn't asking Pince for help on this one), but he had finally found the book he needed in the library: _What Every Young Wizard Can't Ask But Should Know_. And he felt that Pansy should know what he had discovered.

"I'm more than normal," he told her proudly. He could feel a blush creeping into his cheeks, but he continued. "The average penis size is five and a half inches. I'm seven and five-eighths." He paused. "I measured." Yes, it was a silly thing to do, but after her reaction, he had been curious.

She covered her face with her hand. "That's the problem," she muttered.

Great! It figured. He had the one thing that supposedly all witches wanted, and Pansy didn't want it. "How is that a problem?" he implored.

When her hand fell from her face, he saw that her cheeks were as red as his felt. She dropped her head forward as she often did when she was embarrassed, using her hair to hide her blush. "I've never…."

Yeah, he figured she'd never. He'd never, either. So what? _Oh._ "Oh." He felt a rush of tenderness for her. "But we don't have to…." He waved his hand in the air.

Then she looked up at him, and without any hesitation or shyness, she said, "I want to."

"Oh." _How about right now?_ his body was saying. The rush of tenderness was followed quickly by need, and he felt himself start to get hard. "Well, yeah. Maybe at some point in the future… I mean, if we were still together…."

Her eyes widened. "We're together?" she asked.

Neville felt his heart pump wildly in his chest. "I thought we were." He licked his lips nervously. It wasn't like he went around sticking his hands down just anyone's knickers. Crap. That thought was not helping with his current predicament. "Aren't we?"

"Yes," she answered, again without hesitation. "I like you, Neville."

She started making her way around to his side of the table, and he felt his mouth go dry. "I like you, too," he replied sincerely.

Then she was touching his arm, and his blood was on fire. "And I really like what we've been doing lately."

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling her hand make its way to the back of his neck. He looked down at her full lips, thinking about how they felt against his. "So do I," he said, hearing a husky edge to his own voice.

She gave him a coy look. "You're… good at it."

Something kind of like a chuckle escaped his throat. "So are you." She was _really_ good at it. Not that he had anything to compare her to, but she had no trouble working him into a mindless frenzy. It had been getting so hard to hold back lately, and once or twice, he knew he'd pushed too far, but he wanted her so badly.

She was biting her lip again, looking at him inquisitively. "Neville, will you…?"

"What?" he asked. _Anything_ , his body roared.

"I know this sounds crazy, but will you…."

Oh god, she didn't really want to do this right here, did she? "What?" he repeated breathlessly.

She took a deep breath, playing with his hair. "Will you whisper in my ear?"

Okay. Not what he had been expecting, but sure. Why not, if that's what she wanted? He lifted one hand to curl around her waist, and with the other hand, he nudged her soft hair aside. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Like this?" he whispered.

"Oh!" She jumped, clawing at his shoulders as though to hang onto him. Interesting. "Neville. Whisper to me… tell me… tell me what your favorite thing is so far, out of everything we've done."

He figured it was best to be straightforward. Then he might get to do it again. Soon. "I like to feel how wet you get," he whispered. And then – and he didn't know why, it just seemed like a good idea – he gave her earlobe a wet kiss.

She seemed to melt against him. This was incredible. He wanted to spend the next hour whispering in her ear.

The sound of a throat clearing, however, caused them to jump apart.

When he looked around, Professor Sprout had her wand out, levitating a few bags of soil in front of her. "Mr. Longbottom," she said gently, "why don't you leave those for now? It's a nice morning out there. Perfect for a walk."

Blushing, he took Pansy's hand, and they headed out to do just that.

* * *

_Wednesday 10 February  
8:37pm_

Draco spotted Granger at a table near the back of the library. She was alone. Finally. 

He leaned against a shelf and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. There were only three items remaining on the list. He was so close to a perfect score. But the last task had been a piece of cake compared to trying to get a blow job. Those were a rare treat indeed. Plenty of girls would go all the way and still not dream of doing that. Frankly, he was surprised they included it on the list. 

The thought of Granger with her prissy mouth full of his cock, her wet lips bobbing up and down, that defiant gleam in her eyes as he thrust into her throat…. His hand tightened on the shelf. 

But he couldn't let his mind wander in that direction right now. It was obvious that Blaise was trying to sabotage him. He'd watched them talking in Herbology. That's why Draco was here. He had to find out how much Blaise had told her. He didn't see how she could possibly be upset over the bet, but he still needed a copy of that list, or there would be no living with Blaise.

He slid a random book off the shelf and sauntered in her direction. She didn't look up when he tossed the book down on her table and pulled out a chair. He sat down, tapping his fingers on the cover of the book, thinking. It might be best to cut right to the chase. 

"You and Zabini looked chatty in Herbology," he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

Granger said nothing. Any other time it would have been a welcome change.

Draco shifted in his seat. He opened his book and flipped to a random page. What the hell had he grabbed? Some type of Muggle Studies book? There were diagrams of objects he'd never seen before… knobby things and chain-looking things. He closed the book and looked at the spine. _A Wizard's Guide to Motorcycle Maintenance_ it said.

He sighed, frustrated, and ran his hand through his hair. "You want to watch out for Zabini," he said at last, realizing he was giving himself away but unsure how else to proceed if she was going to sit there in silence.

"And why is that?" Her voice was terse. 

Draco leaned in across the table, and Granger finally looked up, her face expressionless. "He has a bad habit of twisting things around," he whispered.

"Ah," she replied. She dropped her head again, scribbling a few runes on her parchment. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you're paranoid." _Scratch, scratch_ went her quill.

"Paranoid," he repeated blandly. Yeah, maybe he was a bit paranoid. It was entirely possible that she and Zabini had been discussing soil composition. Oh, wait. No, it wasn't.

"Uh-huh. Then again, you have good reason to be paranoid." She put down her quill and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "If you’re hiding something."

All right, so she knew exactly what was going on here and was determined to make him sweat as long as possible. He had to admire the pure Slytherin-ness of it. Maybe he was rubbing off on her. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "What would I have to hide?"

At that, she smirked. “I can’t believe I’m not worth more than fifty Galleons,” she said. She was shaking her head, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.

Draco sighed. "All right. So we made a bet." He stretched one arm out over the table, palm up. "But, Granger, you can't tell me—"

"Anything," she interrupted. "I know. I have no right."

Well, he hadn't been expecting that. If she was going to be so calm and sensible, then perhaps it wouldn't hurt to ask again for a copy of the list – just in case she'd decided to call it quits. He opened his mouth to do just that.

"Malfoy," she cut him off.

"What?"

She turned her head, looking around the library. Then she leaned in as far as she could across the table, so he leaned in, too. She swallowed thickly. And then—

"Did I ever tell you about that time we wanked off together in the library?" she whispered.

Draco gaped. He had created a monster.

* * *

_Wednesday 10 February  
8:41pm_

Hermione was not surprised at all when Malfoy slid into the chair across from her later that night in the library. She had been expecting this confrontation all day. In fact, she was looking forward to it. She was going to destroy him. It had all come to her in Herbology – what she was going to do about Malfoy, about the list, about the kiss, about everything.

“No,” Malfoy responded at last, staring at her lips. “I don’t think you ever told me that one.”

She dropped her gaze back down to the book in front of her. She was not reading it, of course. But she turned the page. She could feel her cheeks flaming. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this.

“Do you want to hear about it?” she asked.

"What do you think, Granger?"

She shifted in her seat, staring at a page full of livestock runes. She hadn't known there was a rune for _llama_. She let her gaze drift over to his hand. It was curled into a fist.

She took a deep breath. If she was going to do this, then she knew that she would have to completely own every word.

"It started because I was looking at your hands."

He was silent. His fist uncurled.

"And the way you moved them, and the things you did with them… it surprised me. Your hand brushed against mine that afternoon in Potions, and—" She paused, taking a deep breath. "—it set me on fire. I know that sounds corny."

She looked up, expecting to find him smirking or rolling his eyes, but his face was expressionless, much like that night she had so abruptly asked him out. His eyes, though, practically gleamed. It urged her on.

"And I was thinking about the way your fingers felt inside me," she said, straight to his face, having no clue where this courage was coming from. "And how I never thought I would be saying that combination of words together, not where you were concerned."

He exhaled, a half-formed laugh.

"And how I wondered… if you enjoyed it nearly as much as I did."

"I did," he said. She had never seen Malfoy so still.

"Because, as it turned out," she continued, "I couldn’t stop thinking about it." She swallowed nervously. "I wanted to. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands. Or your fingers. Or your tongue." She could see him biting his cheek. He was holding back a smirk. "And I knew – if I told you that – you would smirk at me. Just like you’re not quite doing right now."

He looked down for a moment, and when he looked back up, it was through his long eyelashes.

"And I thought…" She cocked her head to the side. "I thought I might want to make you squirm. I thought I might like to see _you_ try to be quiet."

His eyes darted around the room as though checking to see if anyone could overhear them.

"And I could do things to you, sure." To emphasize her point, she kicked off one of her shoes and curled her foot around the lower part of one of his legs. The muscles there tensed. "The same types of things you did to me," she added. "But I thought I might like it better if I told you what to do."

"Why am I not surprised?" he whispered.

"And the first thing I told you to do," she said, "was to get comfortable."

He studied her for a moment. Then he leaned back in his chair, his hands resting lightly on the book in front of him.

"Of course, you couldn’t get too comfortable," she amended. "You still had to look like you were studying, right?"

"All right." He played along, sitting back up and scooting his chair closer to the table. He flipped the book open to a random page and stared down blankly at it.

She knew what she was going to say next. She couldn't believe she was going to say it. But it was easier without him looking at her.

"And I told you that I couldn’t stop thinking about your cock."

He blew out a heavy breath through his pursed lips.

"I knew what it felt like in my hand." She paused, savoring the memory. "But I’d been wondering what it would feel like—"

He glanced up.

"—in my mouth."

He looked her straight in the eyes. 

"I wanted to know if you were hard."

"I was."

"That turned me on so much," she said, and now she was having no trouble owning her words. They suddenly came easily. "I wanted to wrap my hand around your cock," she continued softly. "I wanted to feel for myself, feel how hard it was. I wanted to feel the weight of it in my palm."

He ran his hand through his hair, looking away for a moment.

"I wanted to brush my thumb over the tip of it. I wanted to feel it twitch when I slid it through the circle of my fingers."

He let his hair go, and when it fell across his face, she realized how flushed his cheeks were in comparison.

"But that wasn't going to happen," she whispered. "Not right now. So I decided to touch myself."

He propped his forehead on the heel of his palm. Then he dragged that hand down over his face to his jaw.

"I glanced around," she said, doing just that, "and there was no one nearby. I was nervous, I admit it. But I was dying to be touched." Her voice got even quieter. "You know where."

"I do," he responded quietly.

"So I reached under the table."

He dropped his hand from his face, his eyes meeting hers, watching as she did exactly what she was talking about.

"And I let my hand slide up my thigh, just like you did that day over in the History section."

His eyes narrowed, as though he didn't quite believe she was doing it.

"And I slid my hand under my skirt, and I shifted in my chair." She made a show of shifting. "And I parted my legs."

He waited, still as ever.

"And I ran one finger over the crotch of my knickers." God, that felt good. 

"Were you wet?" he asked.

"I was soaking wet."

He released another of those heavy, shuddering breaths. It felt like the air between them was charmed.

She could feel her own eyelids growing heavy. She was lightly stroking herself, allowing herself to thrust ever so slightly against the seat of her chair.

"And I wanted to see you sneak your hand beneath the table," she continued.

His eyes darted around the room. He even looked over his shoulder, though there was a wall close behind him. And then he slipped his hand under the table. She loved the fact that neither of them could see what the other was doing. She didn’t think she could do this otherwise.

"Yes, just like that," she said, encouraging him. "And I wanted to hear the sound of your zipper." And there it was. "Lovely sound."

For the first time, he looked at her as though he thought she was being silly. Somehow, that look of gentle disapproval endeared him to her.

"And I wanted you to wrap your hand around your cock," she said, "and I wanted you to imagine it was my hand."

She supposed he had done it, just as she asked, because his eyes fluttered closed, and his nostrils flared.

"I didn’t want you to close your eyes," she insisted, just as she realized it herself. "I wanted you to keep looking right at me."

It was so intimate, whatever passed between them when their eyes met. It was pure. Whatever it was, it had no idea that they had ever been rivals.

She rode the wave of it into her next admission. "I told you how much I wanted to suck your cock."

He released his heaviest sigh yet. She could see the slight motion of his arm.

"And I wanted to get down on my knees to do it." Her breath caught suddenly in her throat. Nerves. She had to swallow to continue. "I knew that I shouldn’t want to do that." She paused. "Perhaps you thought that’s where I belonged."

"No." He said it without thinking.

"No?" She wanted assurance.

" _No._ " 

"For some reason, I believed you when you said that. I wanted to believe you. As good as I felt, and as good as I wanted to make you feel, I also wanted to feel like your equal."

"You were the one in control," he said. 

It startled her. There was something unexpected in his tone: respect.

"That’s right, I was," she said. "Nevertheless, I got down on my knees. And I spread my legs." She watched his eyes. "You know why I spread my legs?"

"Tell me why."

She licked her dry lips. She had never told anyone what she was about to tell him. It was so dirty.

"Because when I kneeled in front of you, I liked having my legs open. I liked the ache there. I liked feeling empty there." She should not be telling him this. "I liked feeling like I was wet and ready and open for you, anytime you decided you wanted to thrust inside me."

His face fell into his free hand. "God, Granger," he muttered under his breath.

"But first I wanted to taste you," she continued, undeterred. "I know what you expected me to tell you." She picked up the pace of her own hand. "You expected me to say that I wrapped my lips around your cock. That I sucked. That I swirled my tongue over the head. That I moaned around your length. That I bobbed up and down, loving the way you filled my mouth."

She couldn't believe he was meeting her gaze so shamelessly. She couldn't believe that _she_ wasn't looking away.

"And I did all those things. But, for me, the most wonderful thing was looking up at you. And seeing the look on your face. You looked hungry. Your jaw tightened. You looked like you were in pain. You looked greedy." They were both breathing quickly now. "You looked like you wanted to grab a fistful of my hair and fuck my throat."

He bit his fist for a moment, closing his eyes. Then he stuffed his free hand back into his hair. It was wild now, wisps of it going in every direction.

She stopped. She didn't know why, but she didn't feel like she could go on. She had no idea this would feel so intimate. How could it be that saying these things aloud felt more intimate than doing them? Perhaps it was because there was no hope of disengaging – of distancing herself from the moment. 

She shuddered.

"You stopped,” he said.

"I couldn’t go on."

She expected to see frustration on his face, but she didn't. His expression was warm. "Were you embarrassed?"

"Maybe a little bit," she admitted.

He reached out as though he were going to touch her hand, but he drew it back before their fingers touched. "You had no reason to be embarrassed."

She admired the way he kept to the past tense. She had known, from the start, that was the only way she would make it through this – talking about it like it had already happened.

“The list," she said with a sigh. Beneath the table, her hand stilled. “This was just one more thing on the list to you.”

"No," he said firmly. “Granger, I wanted you.” He leaned forward. “I wanted you so bad. It had nothing to do with the list."

They were both motionless for a few moments, suspended in that heavy tension. Yeah, she could see that he wanted her. And she, too, was practically in pain from her arousal. She wanted to go on. She wondered exactly how far she had the courage to take this.

She closed her eyes and thrust against her hand, needing that pressure. “I wanted to ride you,” she whispered. She was silent for a moment. She could feel her face burning. 

“I didn’t want you to be embarrassed,” he said. “I wanted you to open your eyes.”

She did. His palm was flat against the side of his face. His lips were parted in anticipation.

He licked his lips. “I wanted you to tell me more.”

“I wanted to straddle you, right here in the library,” she said at last. “I wished I could do it. I wished there were no one else around.”

“So did I.”

“I had an idea.” She looked around the area where they sat, trying to figure out if she was brave enough to attempt this – and if she was smooth enough to pull it off. There was a small group of students about five tables away, but they looked engrossed in what they were doing. She looked back at Malfoy. She could tell he was touching himself, but only because she knew he was doing it. Overall, he was hiding it pretty well. “I decided I was going to take my knickers off.”

He laughed. “No way.”

“Did you dare me?”

One of his eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “Yeah. I dared you to take them off and show them to me.”

She took a deep breath and looked around one more time. The coast was clear. She hooked her thumbs in the sides of her knickers and wriggled them down over her hips, trying to keep her movements minimal. Malfoy chuckled. She had them down past the edge of her chair now. Now all she had to do was use her legs to get them off… over one ankle… dammit, almost dropped them… ah, perfect.

Underneath the table, she balled them in her hands. Then, with a smirk, she lifted them. Malfoy shook his head, looking down at her hands. She gave him a brief flash of white cotton with green polka dots, and then she quickly stuffed them in to her bag.

His mouth hung open a little. Then he seemed to catch himself. “I was very interested to hear what you had to say next.”

She slipped her hand back under the table. “I slid two fingers inside me. Just like you did.”

“You were tight,” he supplied helpfully.

“Yes, I was tight. It had been a while since I’d had anything more than fingers inside me. But I wanted more.”

“And what did you want?”

She licked her lips and swallowed. “If no one else had been around,” she said, “I would have gotten up and walked over to where you were sitting.” He tensed. “And I would have straddled you. And I would have taken you in my hand, and I would have guided you to—“

“Your cunt,” he said shamelessly, his jaw clenching.

“—yes, my cunt. And I would have slowly sunk down onto your long... thick… hard… cock.”

He exhaled loudly. 

“And I would have pressed your face into my neck, and I would have threaded my fingers in your hair, and I would have started to move. Slowly. Using my legs. Lifting up, until just the very tip of your cock was inside me. Then slowly working my way back down. Burying you.”

She could tell that he was matching the motions of his hand to her words. She did the same with her own hand.

“Clenching around you.” She clenched around her own fingers. “Feeling your lips on my neck. I love the way your lips feel on my neck.”

“I like it, too.”

“And I would have done this over and over again. Relishing the way you filled me. Stretched me. Feeling you against that spot inside me that makes me want to move faster.” Yeah, she wanted to go faster. “I moved faster.” She could see him begin to do the same. “I threw back my head. And I rode you, Draco.” He jerked at the sound of his name. “I totally forgot who I was or where I was. I didn’t care. I wanted to come.”

“I wanted you to come,” he panted. “I wanted to see you come.”

“Not yet.” It took everything she had to slow her hand, but she did it. He was looking at her like she was a goddess, and she could only think one thing. She wanted to destroy him for any other woman ever. Her will was steel. “I wanted to get on my hands and knees for you.”

“Oh god,” he moaned, slamming his eyes shut.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “And I told you that I was going to stop talking unless you opened your eyes.”

His eyes snapped back open. They were glassy with need.

This was, by far, the dirtiest thing she had ever done in her whole life. But now she had hit something like a runner’s high. All right, running had nothing to do with it. She was so turned on that she was about to explode.

“Right here in the library,” she whispered. “Right here—“

“Oh my god, _Pince_!” Malfoy hissed in warning, and he grabbed his book in both hands and lifted it, blocking Hermione from view. She frantically did the same thing. Her fingers were soaked and glistening, but she did not even bother to wipe them off.

“Twenty minutes until the library closes,” Madame Pince barked at them. “Are you checking out those books?”

“No, madame,” Malfoy said. His voice was perfectly even. Hermione was impressed. “We should be finished very shortly.”

Hermione bit her cheek to keep from laughing. Or groaning. She didn’t know if Pince was looking at them suspiciously. She refused to look up. After a silent moment, Pince whirled around and paced off.

They both released a sigh of relief. 

“That crone of a librarian interrupted us,” Hermione said from behind her book. “And yet I still felt like I could get off.”

“You weren’t the only one,” said his voice from across the table.

“We put down our books,” Hermione said. And they did. At the same time. And their eyes immediately met each other's again. “And we picked up right where we had left off.”

Her hand flew right back under the table. Malfoy neatly spit in his own hand and followed suit.

“I wondered if you were close,” she whispered.

“I was so close.”

“Where was I?”

“Hands and knees,” he snapped anxiously.

“Right.” It only took a second to get back into it. The look on his face was fuel to her fire. “I wanted to get down on my hands and knees for you. Right here in the library. And, Draco, I did not want you to be gentle.”

“I didn’t want to be gentle.”

“Good. I wanted you to slam into me with one deep thrust.”

“Yes.”

“And I wanted you to grab my hips. Grab my hair. Pull it.”

“Fuck.” His shoulders tightened. She could see his arm working furiously.

“And I wanted to feel you slamming into me hard. Like you couldn’t hold back even if you wanted to. I wanted to feel you pounding me so deep that I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming.”

He was biting his own lip. And he was watching her lips now, watching her form every word.

“I wanted to hear your balls slapping against my arse. I wanted to feel your sweat drip onto my back… and to know that any moment, you were going to pull your cock out and come all over my arse.”

“I was so fucking close.”

She was close, too. “I wanted you to look down… and see your cock… fucking me. See it… impaling me.”

“ _You'rekillingme._ ”

“I wanted to hear you… tell me… to take it… like a slut.”

“ _Ah!_ ” His face screwed up as though in pain. He shuddered. He didn't make another sound, but his eyes… it was absolutely beautiful.

She bit her lip, her eyes glued to his as she kept working herself. She replayed all of those things in her mind. And more. Her own thoughts were even dirtier at that moment than anything she would dare to tell him. She watched his eyes, but she retreated into that fantasy that never failed to get her off… the horrible one she didn’t want to admit having, not even to herself….

And she exploded.

She licked her lips, trying to catch her breath.

And then Malfoy did the most unusual thing. He reached across the table, almost frantically, and took her free hand in his. And he twined their fingers together. And she let him. And they sat there panting, staring at each other. She could feel his heartbeat in his fingers. Or maybe it was hers.

He finally pulled his hand away and ran it over his face. “Granger,” he began. “That was….” He didn't finish the thought. He just sat there with his face in his hand. Then he looked up abruptly. "I want to do all of those things," he said.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I thought you might," she replied. "You say it has nothing to do with the list, so let's test that theory."

She opened her academic planner and pulled out her copy of the list. As she unfolded it and Malfoy got a look at it, his eyes widened. She took out her wand and tapped it to the parchment, performing the duplication charm.

"I’m going to give you a choice, Malfoy," she said, tossing the copy across the table. He didn't move to pick it up. "There's your copy. You can finish the list, including the kiss." She took a deep breath and leaned in across the table, dropping her voice. "Or you can fuck me." She paused. "In the time, setting, and positions of your choosing."

His eyelids drooped, and his nostrils flared. She could see him mentally working through the possibilities, and it made her begin to get aroused all over again.

"But you can’t do both," she added. "And you’ve got to do one or the other before Valentine’s Day." She quickly packed her bag and stood up, throwing it over her shoulder. "Are we clear?"

He chuckled. "Crystal."

She scooted her chair back under the table. "Let me know what you decide."


	8. Nothing I can say when I'm in your thighs

_Thursday 11 February  
7:10am_

Hermione had to tell Lavender about the bet. It was a matter of solidarity. So the next morning, she slid into the seat next to Lavender at breakfast, poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice, and announced the news without preamble

"Zabini is the one who showed Malfoy the list." 

Lavender almost choked on her coffee, and Hermione glanced over at her curiously. That seemed like an odd reaction.

"But I thought Draco said he found it!" Lavender replied.

Hermione shook her head. "He lied."

Lavender got very quiet and began absent-mindedly poking at her eggs. "I have a confession to make," she said at last, dropping her fork with a clatter. "I told Zabini about the list."

Hermione stopped with her toast halfway to her mouth. She couldn't believe she'd given Lavender the benefit of the doubt. Of course the little hussy had spilled the beans. "When?"

"I don't know. Sometime last week." She gave Hermione an imploring look. "I've seen flobberworms move faster than Zabini! I thought I might never get the kiss. I freaked out."

Hermione sighed. Yes, Pansy's little curse certainly had made things more _interesting_. 

"He swore he would keep it a secret," Lavender added.

"He lied." That seemed to be a running theme where Slytherins were involved. "Also, you should know that Malfoy and Zabini have a bet going to see who can get the most items crossed off the list."

Lavender snickered. "What did they bet?"

Hermione smiled. "Fifty Galleons. Malfoy confirmed."

Lavender pushed her plate away. "So that's why he went from doing nothing to doing everything." She shot Zabini a loathsome look across the hall. "He said it was because his reputation was on the line."

Hermione took a bite of her toast and chewed thoughtfully. "But if they have no copies of the lists to compare, then they have no way of determining the winner, do they?" 

Lavender blushed. "Well, actually, Zabini does have a copy of my list."

"And Malfoy has a copy of mine," Hermione said. She gave Lavender a pointed glare. " _For now_."

"Continue," Lavender demanded.

"I'm just saying. The whole point of this game was to go as far as possible without going all the way, right?"

Lavender was studying Hermione carefully, but at that moment, the morning post arrived, and an Eagle Owl swooped low over the table, dropping a parchment scroll next to Hermione's goblet. It was fastened with a green ribbon, and the tiny note card attached to it was addressed to 'H. Granger, Great Hall, Hogwarts.'

"What's that?" Lavender asked.

Hermione opened the note card.

_Use this parchment in History of Magic this morning._

She glanced over at Malfoy, but he wasn't looking at her. He seemed to be immersed in a book. She pulled off the ribbon and opened the scroll. "Looks like a blank piece of parchment," she said.

Lavender lost interest, immediately going back to the issue of the lists. "So you're saying something will happen to the list if we go all the way?"

Hermione chuckled. "Only one way to find out."

Pansy had her little secrets. But so did Hermione.

* * *

_Thursday 11 February  
8:00am_

As Binns came drifting in through the blackboard, Hermione spread out the blank parchment and loaded her quill with ink, prepared to take notes. She was sure it was Malfoy who had sent it to her, but why?

Binns started to drone, and Hermione started to write.

_Unrest in the Wizengamot  
1753 – Beardley the Brazen installed as Chief Warl_

Hermione stopped and sat back, startled. The words sunk into the parchment, fading away. Then different words started to appear in a narrow script.

_Tell me I’m clever._

They, too, faded a few seconds later.

It had to be Malfoy. Hermione could practically hear the smirk behind the words. In spite of herself, she was impressed. He was using a fairly advanced communication charm. She sighed. If he had to pull a stunt like this during class time, at least he’d picked the appropriate class. Even Hermione could admit that one day of missing notes in History of Magic was not the end of the world.

Still, it couldn't hurt to be cautious. She dipped her quill and wrote back, shielding her parchment, _'Who are you?'_

_Who do you think?_

Hermione had no intention of making it that easy on him. _'Give me a clue.'_

The answer was instantaneous.

_I’m gorgeous._

Conceited git. _'Zabini?'_ she wrote back with a smirk.

The next lines that appeared were scribbled messily.

_Like Zabini is this clever.  
Try again._

She glanced up, spotting Malfoy. He had his quill at the ready, but she noticed that it wasn’t moving. _'Are you in class with me right now?'_ she wrote.

_I’m sitting two rows up to your right._

Malfoy's quill moved in time with the words appearing on her parchment and then stopped. Still, just to be absolutely certain: _'How do I know it’s really you?'_

Malfoy turned and glared at her for a brief moment.

_For fuck’s sake, Granger. It’s me.  
Now tell me I’m clever._

_'You’re insufferably clever,'_ she wrote back. _'Now leave me alone and let me take notes. I’m even cleverer and will not hesitate to uncharm this parchment if you annoy me.'_

And just to keep up the charade, she started taking notes again, even though she knew they would fade almost immediately.

_Split down the middle over the Centaur Naturalisa_

_I suppose it would be inconsiderate not to ask…  
Do you have a preference?_

Hermione stopped writing, pressing her eyes closed for a moment. Was he crazy? She couldn't do this in History of Magic. Actually… why couldn't she? She'd done much worse in the library the previous night. _'You mean you care about my preference?'_ she wrote back at last.

_I’m not a completely insenstive prat, Granger._

She refrained from snorting. _'No, not completely,'_ she scrawled.

_Believe it or not, I want you to enjoy yourself._

She believed it. In fact, it brought to mind how dedicated he had been thus far to her enjoyment, and a tickle of desire shot through her belly.

_So, do you spit or swallow?_

She rolled her eyes. So much for the tickle of desire. _'I bite,'_ she wrote in large letters. She looked up just in time to see Malfoy wince.

_I'm just trying to make an informed decision here.  
Is this your subtle way of telling me that you do have a preference?_

_'NO.'_ Not necessarily a lie.

_Are you sure?_

God, she could practically hear him drawling the words. _'What do you want me to say, Malfoy?'_

_What do I want you to say? Oh, I don’t know…_

Hermione got the feeling she had walked right into this one, and sure enough, his next words appeared with orchestrated pauses between them.

_How about…_

_Please_

_More_

_Harder_

_I’m coming_

Despite his banality, her body took notice. Perhaps the words would sound entirely ridiculous spoken aloud, but seeing them appear in front of her, right here in the middle of History of Magic, she found herself getting wet. Her hand tightened around her quill.

_Or maybe I should stuff your mouth so full of cock  
that you can't do anything but moan._

The words shot a wave of arousal down Hermione's spine. What was wrong with her? Why did that turn her on so much? And just how far was Malfoy planning on taking this written conversation? More to the point: how far did she want him to take it? She took a deep breath and tried not to squirm in her seat.

When she glanced up, Malfoy was looking at her with a heavy eyelids and a faint smile. He turned back to his parchment, and she watched him write with a thrill of dread.

_What’s the matter? You look uncomfortable._

_'I’m getting a headache,'_ she wrote back.

_Liar._

She could practically hear Malfoy whisper the word in her ear. She glanced over to make sure that Parvati couldn’t see what was happening with the parchment. Thankfully, Parvati appeared to be dozing. Malfoy really had picked the perfect class.

_You know, I might decide to do neither._

Hermione had told him that wasn't an option. Her plans depended on him choosing one or the other. If he chose to finish the list, she would get the required kiss and avoid Pansy's hex. If he chose the other option, then the evidence of the entire game would be destroyed, thus ensuring he lost his bet. But she had no way of forcing him to do either. In which case: _'You could just be a decent person and give me the kiss.'_

It took so long for his next words to appear that she thought he might not respond at all. She would have given anything to hear his thoughts at that moment.

_You don’t want a decent person._

She released a shaky breath. He was right. She’d had a decent person. She would probably end up with a decent person. Right now, at this moment in time, that’s not what she wanted, no matter what that said about her.

Right now she just wanted Malfoy, and little else about this game mattered much at all.

She shook her head to clear it and dipped her quill for some fresh ink. Then she wrote back, in as steady of a hand as she could manage, _'Then what do you think I want?'_

_You told me exactly what you wanted last night._

She felt her cheeks burn at the memory. He was right again. Every word out of her mouth had once been in her mind while she pleasured herself. Everything she had told him was straight out of…. _'That was a fantasy,'_ she scribbled.

She waited for his response, breathless. When the words came, she was forced to read them one by one as they appeared, each one tightening the screw on her arousal that much more.

_So you don’t want me to bend you over  
and grab your hair  
and fuck the living daylights out of you?_

She dropped her quill on the desk, trying to remember how to breathe. She supposed she was the worst kind of harlot imaginable, because that’s exactly what she wanted. And she wanted Malfoy to give it to her. And not just that, either. She wanted so many other things from him… she wanted to _do_ so many other things _to_ him….

_Granger?_

She chanced a glance in his direction, but he wasn’t looking at her. From where she sat, she fancied she could make out tiny creases at the corner of his eyes. Her hand trembled. She could only manage one word. _'What?'_

Malfoy's next sentence came after another long pause. His script was small and messy, as though he didn't really want it to be read.

_Last night was the sexiest thing I've ever experienced._

Whether or not he was telling the truth, Hermione felt power surge through her at the admission.

_Do you know what I want?_

She could feel her heart thudding against her ribs. _'Tell me.'_

She waited and waited, but his reply did not come. So she looked up. Malfoy turned to look at her then, and their eyes met. She saw the same thing on his face that she had seen the previous night in the library. Respect. He studied her for a moment, quill motionless in his hand. Then he blinked and bent his head back over his desk, and words started to appear in front of her.

_I want you to decide._

She shuddered, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. Excitement. Apprehension. Even a touch of fondness.

_Astronomy Tower. Saturday night. 7:00pm._

* * *

_Friday 12 February  
7:55pm_

Comfort was of utmost importance to Blaise Zabini. He was disgusted by the notion of engaging in a tryst in the Astronomy Tower or on the grounds or – Salazar forbid – in some drafty corridor. Granted, it was tricky to secure the Room or Requirement solely for the purpose of fornication, so his favorite classroom on the fifth floor was a trusty standby. 

It was Friday night, and he was there now, conjuring two matching settees with damask silk upholstery and plenty of throw pillows. He fixed them so that they were facing each other. Ah, this was the ideal arrangement for a pleasant evening of mutual masturbation. It was intimate, but with plenty of room for each of them to stretch out. 

He relaxed into the settee facing the door and added a few floating candles to the mix. Lovely. Now he just needed his partner.

Blaise was not adverse to exposing himself. In fact, his exceptional hotness extended well below the waistband of his trousers, and he quite enjoyed the looks of awe that his penis elicited from his partners. Not to mention the fact that he had wanked off twice today, so he was good to go.

At least he hoped so.

He knew Lavender was getting impatient. He knew that her hints would soon become uncomfortable questions….

The door opened, and he was surprised to find that she was wearing the same thing he was wearing: white button-down shirt, silver and green necktie (old habits die hard, though he couldn't imagine where she had gotten hers), and trousers. He had never seen her dressed so formally during her free time. 

"Mmm, good evening," she purred to him after she had cast the usual locking and silencing charms. 

"Good evening," he purred back, careful not to let his voice or face reveal the fact that her attire was turning him on. Her hair was pulled back in a knot, and she looked… almost masculine. But her hips were round in the trousers, and her shirt was darted to accentuate her hourglass shape, and her bare nipples were hard and dark under the thin, white fabric.

All he wanted to do was tie her down and slowly peel off those layers, revealing all the soft, pale, curvy flesh underneath. But, much to his chagrin, she had downright forbid him to use any type of bondage on her tonight.

She sauntered over to him and leaned down, bracing herself with her hands on his knees. "You like games, don't you, Zabini?" she asked.

He lived for them. Preferred them to actual sex, in fact. "As long as I'm the one making the rules," he replied, the warning evident in his tone.

She tapped him on the nose with her finger, the harlot. "Tonight we're going to do things a little differently."

He cocked his head to the side, studying her. "All right," he conceded at last. "What's the game?"

She sat down across from him, on her settee. She said nothing more, and she didn't move. They sat like that for a few long minutes. Blaise scooted over on his settee, closer to the armrest. And she did the same thing.

He froze.

She froze.

He lifted his hand and curled it over the edge of the armrest.

She mimicked his motion.

He chuckled. This is what he liked so much about Lavender Brown. She might giggle too much, and she might be flippant, but she loved to play, and Blaise liked that. 

He leaned back and spread his legs in a basely masculine manner, smiling when she followed suit. Then he lifted his hand to his necktie and slowly started loosening it. He left it hanging undone and popped the first button on his shirt. She was his mirror. He popped another button, and he saw the pale skin above her breastbone. Another button, and he saw cleavage.

He stopped. Clever. He was still the one giving orders here. But he had to follow his own orders if he wanted her to obey.

He tugged at his shirttail, seeing a flash of her abdomen as she did the same. He knew what that skin looked like covered with red scratch marks and wet kisses. He wanted to see more of it. Only one way to do that tonight.

He went back to popping buttons, this time starting from the bottom, which earned him a giggle from Lavender. Finally, only one remained, and it was the one holding that form-fitting shirt closed right over her breasts.

"I'm going to get you naked tonight, Zabini," she drawled.

Blaise felt his cock harden at the words. He wanted to be naked with her. But he was going to do it on his own terms. He watched her breasts lift under her shirt as she breathed, nipples poking at the thin fabric. He wanted to see them. So he popped that final button and spread his own shirt wide open.

"Damn, Zabini," she panted. 

"Likewise, Brown," he replied. He fought against the breathless edge in his own voice.

He ran one of his fingers around his own nipple. This was intoxicating. He both felt the pleasure of his own touch and watched the effect of hers. He continued leisurely, toying with his own nipples until hers were as hard as he wanted them.

Now he wanted… something that he would feel really silly doing to himself.

"Press your breasts together," he commanded hopefully.

She shook her head. "I think you know the rules here."

He clenched his jaw, looking away for a moment. Fine. He shrugged off his own shirt and tie and tossed them aside. Now they were both naked from the waist up. And now he was going to make himself look ridiculous in order to get what he wanted. Was it worth it?

Yeah. It was worth it. He leaned forward slightly. And he placed one hand on each of his pectoral bulges. And he pressed them together. And the evil bint laughed at him.

Ah, but she did the same thing, nonetheless, and Lavender Brown had some of the best tits he had ever seen.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked with a sly grin.

He licked his lips, staring at that shadowy valley between her soft breasts. "I'm thinking about the way my cock would look… covered in your spit… sliding between your tits."

She groaned, and he could see her grinding slightly against the cushion of the settee.

He wanted to see more of that motion. He released his grip and lay back, folding one arm behind his head. She did the same thing. He started moving _his_ hips then, simulating sex, and he kept it up for a few long minutes. He knew what she looked like under those trousers. He knew how wet and pink she was. But he wanted to see. And damn her, there was only one way that was going to happen. Worse: in order to get her to spread wide enough for him to see….

He groaned in frustration.

"Don't you like my game?" she asked innocently.

"It's… original," he spat. "I'll give you that."

"What if I told you I wasn't wearing knickers?'

Blaise froze. Nah, she wouldn't make it that easy on him. Not after all of the outrageous things he'd done to her in the past two weeks. "I'd say you were lying," he replied.

"Yeah," she said with a giggle, "I'm lying. But it was worth it for the look on your face."

He stayed frozen. She looked at him with raw expectation on her face. He threw his hands down at his sides. When she did the same thing, he realized how immature it made him look. But he was not happy about this. There was _fly open, cock exposed_ , and then there was _naked_. 

"Lavender."

"Yes?"

He sighed. She wasn't going to budge. Fine. At least it was one more list item crossed off. Not that it mattered. He had taken care of the competition. But he had received the equivalent of an ultimatum earlier that day. He knew, if he refused to do this, that he wasn't getting any further with Lavender Brown, and there were so, so many things he still wanted to do to her. It wasn't everyday you found a witch who let you torture her with a feather for over twenty minutes straight. And god, the things that came out of her mouth sometimes….

Resigned, he sat up and popped the button on his trousers. She perked up visibly, following right along. He smirked and started toeing off his shoes instead, and she gave him the cutest look of disappointment. He reached down and took off his socks and threw them aside.

This was it. Best do it quickly, he thought. He pulled down his zipper, stood, and unceremoniously pushed off his trousers, slightly mollified as her pale, curvy thighs came into view – not to mention her Slytherin-green bikini knickers.

He sat back down. Now to explore. His boxer shorts provided him with a little more modesty than her knickers. He spread his legs, deeply satisfied to see her do the same thing. Then he pressed his palm down over his erection and rubbed.

"Feels good," she said in a breathy voice as she rubbed herself.

Over the fabric of his boxers, he wrapped his hand around his erection and stroked himself. She mimicked him only as far it worked for her own pleasure. 

"I want you inside me," she said, and her voice was soft. Serious.

He tossed his head against the back of the settee and closed his eyes, shutting himself off. She had never said that before. He wanted that, too, but—

"Blaise."

His head shot up again, and he locked gazes with her, stroking himself a little more firmly. She never called him by his first name. 

"I want to be on top," she proclaimed abruptly.

He chuckled. Yeah. Of course she did. He wiped his hand over his face in frustration, but then chuckled again when he saw her doing the same thing. That's what else he liked about Lavender Brown. She really knew how to commit.

Actually, he realized that he liked a lot of things about Lavender Brown. She was pretty fun to get high with, too.

He took a deep breath and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers. Her eyes widened as she did the same. Then slowly, carefully, he shimmied out of that last piece of clothing and tossed it aside with a flick of his wrist. He sat back, and he wrapped his hand around his cock, and he continued to stroke.

And then she did the sweetest thing. She quit playing. She spread her legs, tossing one over an armrest, and slid two fingers inside of her glistening hole.

"Blaise?"

"Yes, my love?" he shot back, mockingly.

"Your cock is glorious."

"Thank you."

Yeah, he was well aware of how glorious it was. She wasn't exaggerating. But, unfortunately, there was no way she could know—

"Blaise, you should know that I did a contraceptive spell earlier. And now I'm going to come over there, and I'm going to sink down on your cock, and I'm going to ride you until I come."

He exhaled loudly. Hopelessly. "All right, Lavender." 

It had been fun while it lasted. And it was about to be really fun… for just a little while longer… but he had done this before, and he was filled with dread as much as excitement….

She straddled him, and she took him in her hand – he swallowed heavily – and she guided him to her wet, hot slit. He pressed his eyes closed. He pressed his lips closed. He tried not to think.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Her voice sounded far away. That must be because of the blood pounding in his ears.

"Yeah," he panted. "Go on, then."

"Look at me."

Reluctantly, and with a heavy sigh, he opened his eyes. She leaned down and kissed him, and as her lips worked rhythmically over his, she sank down slowly onto his length.

"Ah!" he cried out, breaking their kiss, trying not to buck up. That would not be helpful.

"Oh god, that feels so good," she was saying.

He was concentrating, as hard as he could. He was concentrating on anything, everything, except how tight she was, and how good she felt around him, and how much he didn't want her to move, because if she moved—

She started moving. "Oh, fuck," he cursed under his breath.

She wasn't even moving that quickly or that deeply, but nevertheless, the feeling was starting deep in his belly… he hated this… he couldn't hold it off… she slammed down all the way, grinding against him, and he exploded.

He grabbed onto her, wrapping her as tightly as he could in his arms, pressing his cheek against her breasts, pumping his hips up against her… and for a moment, he pushed his embarrassment aside and let the glory of his release overwhelm him.

And there it was. It was over.

But… she wasn't going anywhere. And she wasn't laughing at him. And she wasn't yelling at him. She was just holding him, running her hand over his short, wiry hair.

"Don't worry, Zabini," she said then, and he could feel her smiling. "Your secret is safe with me."

He pushed at her, needing to see the look in her eyes. Was there sarcasm there? He didn't see any, even though he had once said the same exact thing to her and then turned right around and betrayed her trust.

She gave him a mischievous smile. "Assuming your recovery time is reasonably brief, that is."

"Ten minutes," he panted. "Tops."

"Ah. Just enough time for some feather torture."

With a grin, he reached for his wand. Only to find—

"Why is there smoke coming from my trousers?"

* * *

_Saturday 13 February  
9:45am_

This was amazing. Neville Longbottom was amazing. Pansy told him, in simple terms, what she wanted him to do, and he went for it. And he even got creative with it, mixing things up, and who would ever have guessed that clumsy, quiet Neville Longbottom was a veritable lion in the sack?

Well, not in the sack, per se. It was a lovely Saturday morning – the day before Valentine's Day, to be exact – and they were out on the grounds. They had found a comfy little spot in a small grove of trees, and Pansy had done both Warming and Disillusionment charms on an ten-feet-cubed area, and they were stretched out on the grass, underneath the steely blue winter sky.

It pained her to admit that she would have never been so good at those charms before Flitwick had assigned her to a study group with Granger.

And right now, Neville was doing three list items at once. With finesse. Granger had been right yet again. All a girl had to do was find a patient bloke and tell him exactly what she wanted. 

Neville lay beside her with his hand inside her knickers, gently thrusting one finger inside her while his thumb circled her clitoris. The touch wasn't perfect, but it was good enough to have her moaning and bucking up against his hand. He rubbed his erection against her hip, and not in some sleazy, mindless way, either, but softly… deliberately…. And the ear-whispering. Pansy was not one to use obscenities, but _holy shit_. 

"Pansy," he whispered, and then he kissed the shell of her ear. "I can't stop thinking about tasting you."

That was another thing. Now that she had started this ear-whispering thing, he was telling her anything that popped into his head – as though, as long as it was a whispered secret, he didn't have to feel shy about it at all. It felt honest and incredibly sexy – even if sometimes it bordered on corny.

"Okay," she panted, feeling utterly consumed with need for more, more, _more_. They were both already down to their undergarments, and even that felt like too many clothes. "We can try that."

His hand stilled, and he looked up, but he didn't ask if she was sure. She had finally broken him of that habit. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dark. He just started kissing his way down her torso, as though afraid she might change her mind. When he got to her knickers, he hooked his thumbs in the sides and gave her one last look before tugging them down and off.

"Let me…" She trailed off, sitting up a bit, reaching around to undo the clasp of her bra. She felt silly in her bra with no knickers on. Neville stared at her, wide-eyed, and he seemed to be raging a battle to keep his eyes on her eyes as she removed her last piece of clothing.

Finally, he looked down. And looked. And looked. And she was just starting to feel self-conscious when he said, quite clearly and succinctly, "You're gorgeous."

Pansy stretched luxuriously, basking in the compliment. "Well then, Longbottom?" she urged him in a mock-bossy tone of voice.

"Oh! Right." He smiled. "Spread your legs."

She wondered if he had any idea how sexy that was – when he gave her little commands like that. Not that she wanted him to make a habit of it or anything. But, nevertheless, she obeyed.

And he started at her knees, kissing his way up the inside of her thighs. When he reached his destination, he gently parted her folds with his thumbs and stared until it began to make her uncomfortable. He seemed to be at a loss for how to proceed.

"Use your tongue," she commanded. "I'll guide you."

Hesitantly, he gave her a long, slow swipe with his tongue, like he was licking an ice cream cone, and who was she kidding? She wouldn't be able to guide him. That would require use of the English language. Right now her vocabulary consisted of one word: "Unf!"

He stopped, and she bucked up against him, wordlessly beckoning him to continue. So he did. He played around with different types of strokes and pressures, but they all felt so damn good that she really didn't care to correct or guide him at all.

So he settled in, and then he started doing something—

"Neville! That! DO THAT!"

She didn't know what he was doing, but the speed and the pressure on her clitoris was perfect. She bit down on her fist so that they wouldn't hear her moaning all the way in Hogsmeade. And she tried, she really tried, not to clamp her thighs around his head and grind against his face. She knew he needed air. But she was already so worked up from what he had been doing earlier, and she just wanted to—

"Finger!" she whimpered. "Add your finger!"

He did, immediately. 

"Faster," she panted. "Faster and harder."

He did exactly, precisely, perfectly as he was told.

"Neville." She banged her fist on the ground. "I'm going to come. I'm going to—"

She cried out, bucking her hips madly as spasms of release took over her whole body. He was still going at it. "Stop now!" she demanded, and he did. "But keep your finger there!"

" _Whoa_ ," she heard him say. 

She could feel the muscles between her legs clamping down like a vise around his finger – clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing – and obviously, he could feel it, too. And it seemed like it went on forever, until she finally lay flat against the grass, totally relaxed.

"That was brilliant," he was whispering, his voice full of awe. He was carefully moving back to his original position by her side, but it seemed like now he didn't know what to do or what to touch, if anything, so he flattened his palm against her lower belly, and she felt herself inexplicably clench again.

She turned to kiss him, so far gone that she didn't even think about it until she heard him gasp. He ran his hand over his mouth, wiping it off. But she didn't care. In fact, she was a little curious. She pressed her lips to his. She ran her tongue over his bottom lip, and he gasped again. Then he cradled her face in his hands and kissed her fiercely, letting her taste herself on his tongue. He was right. It was tangy. And rich.

She pulled back, but not because of the taste. "Neville, I'm ready."

He looked like he might explode from wanting to ask if she was sure, but he reined it in. He nuzzled his wet lips against her ear and whispered, "I'm so glad."

She thought he would take off his boxers – today they were green with orange starfish – but she found him reaching for his wand. "I learned a charm," he said shyly. "Just in case. Or maybe you already—"

She blushed. "I did." He learned a contraceptive charm for her? How sweet was that? But yeah, she wasn't trusting her reproductive organs to Longbottom or anyone else. Not like that, anyway. "I did it… when I woke up this morning." Ugh! Why did she have to turn so red? "Just in case."

He bit his lip, tossing his wand aside. And _now_ he was taking off his boxers. Pansy felt a moment of panic, and he must have seen it on her face. He froze.

"It's okay," she told him, pulling at his arms, urging him to lie down between her legs. "It'll be fine." She paused, then added, "It'll be good."

He didn't look convinced about her optimism, but when his – she didn't know what to call it – his _penis_ slid across her wetness, they both sighed at the feeling. He moved his hand down, grasping himself, and proceeded to press… nowhere near where he needed to be.

"Here," she said, reaching down to help him. Between the two of them, they finally got everything lined up. Then they both laughed. But then he started to press forward, and she panicked again.

"Don't worry," he said with a self-effacing chuckle. "I don't think this is going to take very long at all."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Pansy, I think…"

She opened her eyes to look at him. He looked like he was in pain.

"I mean, I read that it's best if you relax."

"I wonder why I didn't think of that!" she spat sarcastically.

"Well, I mean… I'm pushing here, but—"

Yes, yes, she got the picture. He wasn't going anywhere while she was tensed up for an assault. She closed her eyes and thought about the mind-blowing orgasm he'd just given her, and she could do this. Not to pay him back, or anything. That was silly. But she had liked the way his finger felt, and she knew this was possible, and it might even feel good, once she got used to it….

The next few minutes were awkward and painful, probably for both of them. It went something like this: He pushed. It hurt. She tensed. He stopped. She relaxed. It happened again. He made maybe an inch of progress.

This was ridiculous. 

"Maybe if you do it yourself?" he suggested.

"What do you mean?"

"Well. I mean, I'm not going anywhere." She gave him a look, and he backpedaled. "I mean, unless you want me to stop, of course!"

"No."

"All right. So I'm just right here. Just… in case you decide you want to… push up."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Okay."

He used his hand to keep himself positioned, but he reached up with his thumb and lightly pressed against the place she had taught him about. And it felt predictably wonderful. And then he leaned down and started whispering in her ear, just like she had taught him she liked.

"You feel so good," he whispered. "Even like this. Especially like this."

She could feel herself get wetter as his soft breath caressed her ear. He kissed her jaw lightly.

"I would love to feel you move," he said.

So she did, experimentally. He tensed, but he didn't stop talking.

"I've wanted to be inside you for so long," he whispered, and now his voice was very, very quiet.

"No you haven't," she replied.

"Yes." He moved his hips, just the tiniest bit. She could tell it was unintentional. "I wasn't supposed to, I know." He laughed a little bit. "But I used to check out your legs all the time in Care of Magical Creatures."

His voice felt amazing in her ear. She knew he was telling the truth. She had caught him staring once or twice. That was another reason she had picked him for this game. She knew he wouldn't turn her down.

"I want to be inside you," he whispered. "I want to feel you."

It was all working. With every word out of his mouth, she found herself bucking up against him in an increasing rhythm, taking him a little more deeply every time. And every time, he would gasp and tense, but he just kept whispering to her.

"It's all I can do—" She heard him stop to swallow. "It's all I can do to hold back right now."

That drove her crazy, knowing she was having that effect on him, and she bucked mindlessly, lodging him even more deeply, feeling him inside her, and it was stretching her, and it was painful, but the arousal almost obliterated all of that.

"When you move like that," he whispered, "it drives me crazy." 

But now he was moving his hips, too, making tiny thrusts, and with a gasp, she realized that he was in pretty far now. In fact, he moved his hand away. And he pulled back a tiny bit, and he thrust, and he was even deeper. 

Now he was groaning against her neck. "Please let me—"

"Do it," she assented.

And he gently started to move. And either he wasn't really freakishly huge after all, or she was getting used to this, because the more he moved, the more the pain abated. 

"Not gonna last long," he told her, and even though the pain was lessened, she was relieved to hear it.

"Neville," she whispered, caressing his neck and shoulders, "do what you need to."

He did. He started pumping his hips in earnest, and she did her best not to tense at the intrusion. But then something incredible happened. She found that she was feeding off of his need now. The more desperate his movements became, and the more he gasped and moaned, the more excited she became. And just when it was starting to feel _really good_ … he came. Of course.

His whole body tensed up, and he released a shout, muffled by her shoulder and the grass beneath it. Then he stilled inside her, trembling, and she felt him pulsing inside her in spasms. Then his weight was on her, fully, because he was totally relaxed. She didn’t mind it at all. In fact, it felt… like they were one person. She ran her fingers through his hair, awestruck, and he lay his cheek on her chest, right beneath her neck, breathing heavily. 

"I want to do that again," she announced. "Later."

He looked up, surprised. "You do?" He had some grass stuck to his cheek.

"Yes," she said with a smile. 

He kissed her leisurely. 

Then—

"Do you smell something burning?" he asked.


	9. And if it's all right, yes I will

_Saturday 13 February  
6:55pm_

_I want you to decide._

Hermione knew exactly what she was going to do. She was going to have sex with Draco Malfoy.

After all they had already done together, it seemed silly for her to worry with all those girly things like trimming the hair between her legs or wearing perfume or picking out pretty underwear or attempting to do something with her hair. But she had done all of those things. And she had cast two different contraceptive charms. Then she had made sure the two didn't cancel each other out. And then she had sat cross-legged on her four-poster bed for an indeterminate amount of time and considered that tonight she was going to have Draco Malfoy's cock inside her.

She shuddered, feeling as though she were outside of her own body as she climbed the steps to the Astronomy Tower. It seemed surreal that it had only been two weeks since she made this climb for their 'first date.' She felt a hysterical chuckle rise in her throat at that thought. The task had been so straightforward and the plan so perfect. And Hermione was so glad it hadn't worked.

She finally reached 'their' chamber and paused outside, her fingers wrapped around the cold iron doorknob. This was it. 

She opened the door.

The room was as empty as it had been when she had arrived that night two weeks ago. Hermione felt her stomach flip before anger began to settle in. How could he not be here? It wasn't like she was expecting wine and candles, or even a bed, but she had not been expecting him to be so cruel as to keep her waiting for him in a cold, bare chamber.

That was when she noticed that she wasn't alone. An envelope lay on the stone floor in the very middle of the room.

The anger dissipated, followed by an even greater sense of curiosity and excitement. She strode inside and picked up the envelope. It was not addressed to her or anyone else, but she ripped into it and frantically unfolded the parchment inside.

> _Your scavenger hunt begins here, where you didn't enjoy yourself. I almost kissed you that night. Aren't you glad I didn't?_
> 
> _Regardless of what you decide, I'm not going to kiss you until after noon on V. Day. Even though I want to. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out why._
> 
> _What I can't figure out is why you never took it when you had the chance._
> 
> _I think you know where to find the next clue._

Hermione stood there staring at the note, feeling so many different emotions that she couldn’t begin to process them all. Most of all, she was surprised that he admitted to wanting to kiss her. And then she discovered, for the first time in the past two weeks, that she wanted to kiss him, too. _Really_ wanted to kiss him.

She felt like she had swallowed lead. That was it. Maybe he had originally withheld the kiss as a carrot he could dangle in front of her. But at some point, that had changed, and from that point on, he had withheld the kiss because she hadn't wanted it. Not for pure reasons, anyway. 

She thought about Malfoy’s bet with Zabini. As much as she wanted Malfoy, it had been hard to continue, thinking that he was only acting out of a sense of competition. Yet she had turned that kiss – something that should have been supremely intimate – into a prize to be won. Worse: she had turned it into a task to be completed. Of course he didn’t want to give it to her. 

The parchment hung limply in her hand. Was this actually Malfoy betraying a vulnerability? By telling her this, he risked losing any chance of going further. His message was clear: _If you proceed, you do so because you want it just as much as I do._

He was right about something else. She could have taken that kiss all along – if she had really wanted it. She’d had the perfect opportunity, when he was bound to that desk. And no, it hadn’t been her honor that kept her from taking it. Maybe it hadn't even been her pride. 

Hermione read the note again.

> _I’m not going to kiss you until after noon on V. Day._

So he had every intention of kissing her, just as soon as it was no longer required. He would kiss her once he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she wanted it for it’s own sake. She felt a flutter of fondness in her chest. That was almost… _romantic_.

She shook her head. This whole scavenger hunt idea was romantic, actually, even though his note still carried an unmistakably teasing tone. And she did, indeed, know where to find the next clue.

* * *

_Saturday 13 February  
7:29pm_

Malfoy was near. Hermione thought she might have just missed him. When she entered the classroom where she had tied him to a desk, she almost fancied that she could smell him.

But he wasn't there.

Instead, another one of those envelopes lay waiting for her, on the very desk where he had perched, his hands tied with her red silk bonds. Seeing Malfoy like that had been heady. She could clearly remember the way he struggled – against her bonds, against her desire for a simple kiss, against his own arousal. She felt the muscles in her abdomen tighten at the thought of it. Who would have guessed that Malfoy had such self-control?

Actually, it made sense. He had always been good at compartmentalizing.

She had been angry with him that night. She had almost left him tied to that desk, exposed. But now she realized that at least some of her anger had been misplaced. He hadn't forced her to unbutton her shirt. She felt her cheeks flush at the memory. And he certainly hadn't forced her to unzip his trousers and start wanking him off. She had done it because – whether or not he moaned – his responses inflamed her. 

At that thought, she imagined using her mouth on him. She could imagine the way he would lick his lips, the way his breathing would grow erratic. She knew the way his hands curled into fists when he was turned on. Yes, it would certainly be no hardship at all, doing that to Malfoy, and after all, he had been so very generous with his own mouth….

This time she opened the envelope with more care.

> _You'll never know how close you came to making me moan. If you ever tell anyone about that night, I'll hex you six ways to Sunday._
> 
> _I'm guessing you know where to find the next clue. Better hurry. I doubt I need to remind you, of all people, that the library closes at 8pm on Saturdays._

Hermione stuffed the parchment in her pocket and took off at a run.

* * *

_Saturday 13 February  
7:42pm_

"The library is closing in less than twenty minutes!" Pince barked as Hermione rushed past the circulation desk and headed for the History section. 

She ignored Pince and tried desperately to catch her breath as she was bombarded by images and memories of Malfoy in this place. She passed the aisle where he had swiped that Transfiguration text right out from under her. She passed the table at which she would never again be able to sit peacefully and study.

As she drew nearer to the History section, she half-wondered if she would turn the corner and find Malfoy leaning against the shelf, smirking at her and flipping his pocket watch, but the aisle was empty when she reached it. At once, the memory of that encounter washed over her, and when she glanced around, she realized how very daring it had been to do what they had done right here. 

Hermione blushed, even as her knickers grew wet at the thought.

She strode down the aisle and found a piece of parchment stuffed between two books at eye level. Her pulse quickened as she noticed that there was a mark in the spines of those books – as though someone had pressed a sweaty cheek against them. She slid the parchment out and opened it, breathless.

> _It wasn't about the list. It wasn't about the bet. I wanted you then, and I want you now._
> 
> _(Not that I'd say no to 50 Galleons.)_
> 
> _You know where. I'm waiting for you._
> 
> _P.S. Tell me how it happened, if that helps you.  
>  It certainly works for me._

She should have kept him waiting a little longer, especially after his wild-goose chase. She wasn't sure should could have done so even if she had wanted to.

* * *

_Saturday 13 February  
8:02pm_

Hermione stood inside the door of Malfoy’s practice classroom, staring at the sight in front of her.

In the center of the room stood an elegant four-poster bed with carved serpent motifs, covered in green and silver bedding. Malfoy leaned smugly against one of those posts, arms folded across his chest and eyebrow raised. He looked like a prize, standing there with his sleeves rolled up and his tie dangling loosely from his collar, impudently aware of exactly what a striking image he presented.

Hermione suddenly felt very average. It wasn’t that Malfoy was perfect. His features were too sharp. And he was too thin, too pale, to be truly handsome. But he _thought_ he was perfect. More: He knew exactly who he was underneath all of that, and he liked who he was. He certainly made no apologies for it. 

“It’s rude to linger in doorways, Granger,” he said with his trademark smirk.

Malfoy was giving her a lesson on manners? Priceless. But she found that she couldn’t sneer or roll her eyes or do anything but step into the room and close the door behind her, only taking her eyes off of him to survey the bed. She couldn’t believe he had conjured something so luxurious. She knew he was capable of doing it. But—

“I didn’t know we had a bed kind of relationship.” The words just slipped right out.

He chuckled. “Would you prefer a tumble in a broom cupboard?”

“I’m not complaining,” Hermione amended quickly, although she supposed that a quickie in a broom cupboard had its merits as well. “It’s nice.” She smirked. “If somewhat ostentatious.”

He briefly turned to study the bed. “Perhaps I went overboard with the panels depicting scenes from the life of Salazar Slytherin.” 

She gave a short huff of laughter, in spite of herself. “Just what I’ve always wanted to look at while….” Both her words and her laughter died out. This might have been easier if he _had_ caught her by surprise and dragged her into a broom cupboard.

_Tell me how it happened, if that helps you._

It did help her. So she did.

“You looked breathtaking,” she said, her voice soft.

“Of course I did,” he agreed automatically, but his gaze was appreciative as it traveled over her body. He lifted it at last to her eyes. “And you were going to look even better any minute now.”

She swallowed thickly. “You charmed the door,” she suggested. She would have done it herself, but she didn’t want to turn her back to him.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, Malfoy cast the necessary charms and then slipped his wand back in his pocket.

And there they were – bed conjured, door locked and silenced, small talk out of the way.

“You wanted me to decide,” Hermione said before she could lose her nerve.

He crossed his arms again. “That whole thing was your idea in the first place,” he reminded her. 

She stared at the pale column of his neck and took a few steps forward. “Just out of curiosity, what would you have chosen?”

Malfoy smirked. “Guess.”

“You wouldn’t have finished the list.”

He shook his head, a deliberate single movement left and right. “Definitely not.”

At that, Hermione felt a wave of arousal slam through her body. “I thought my decision might surprise you,” she said, taking a few more steps towards him.

His eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t wait to hear what it was.”

“You would have to wait and see,” Hermione replied. She could see him biting the inside of his cheek at that, and she realized that’s what he wanted. He wanted her in control. He wanted her to surprise him. And even though she should have felt a thrill of power at that thought, she also felt a hint of uncertainty. “I was a bit anxious,” she confessed in a quiet voice. She lifted a shaky hand and started unbuttoning her shirt.

He took a deep breath, watching her fingers move. “Maybe I was, too,” he replied, burying the admission under a casual tone. Then he started on his own shirt, his long, thin fingers plucking lazily at the buttons.

Hermione watched the movement with fascination. “I didn’t believe that.” She drew closer, and with one decisive motion, she shrugged off her shirt and tossed it aside.

He rolled his shoulders, his jaw tightening as he tried not to respond too overtly to her carefully chosen bra. Red lace. His fingers worked more quickly on his own shirt. “Your fantasies were pretty hot, Granger,” he replied. “And, granted, so was I.” Another smirk. “But still. It was a lot to live up to.” He tossed his own shirt aside. "Not that I wasn't going to try my best."

She only thought he was breathtaking before. Yes, she’d gotten a glimpse of his chest that night she tied him down. But that was nothing compared to a completely shirtless Malfoy. A hint of muscle played beneath his smooth skin. His collarbones were exquisite. His shoulders begged to be touched, and her hands itched to wrap around them, thumbs sliding over the slight protrusion of the bones there. 

Hermione caught herself staring speechlessly. “I didn’t think you were going to have trouble with that,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed, raising one eyebrow, “probably not.”

Now within a few feet of him, Hermione reached around to unfasten her bra, and his hand flew out to stop her.

“No,” he demanded, and the one word rang out forcefully in the room, making her appreciate the low timbre of his voice. “I wanted you to leave that.”

She dropped her arms, giving him a faint smile. During all they had done, he had never once moved to fully remove her bra. “You had a thing for bras, didn’t you?” she teased him. 

“Oh yes,” he replied softly. His eyes were fixed on that red lace.

“Why?” she asked, taking a step closer.

Then Malfoy reached out and lightly ran the tip of his middle finger over the edge of her bra cup. It was his first touch of the evening, and she felt her entire body ignite from it. Her breath escaped her in a rush, and he briefly glanced back up, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Like this,” he whispered, easing the bra cup down and trapping it under her breast. His gaze returned to her breasts, half hungry and half reverent. He slid his fingers over to pull the other cup down as well. “Like this,” he repeated, thumb softly circling her exposed nipple, “you looked… unintentional.”

She tried to chuckle, but it came out as a whimper when his touch turned unexpectedly sharp. “Were you sure you had the right word?” she asked.

“Spontaneous,” he corrected himself, returning to feather-light caresses. “You looked spontaneous.” He dropped his voice. “Indecent.”

The word shot through like fire through her belly. Hermione could imagine just how indecent she looked, standing there with her breasts hanging out of her bra, her lips parted as she tried to breathe.

And Malfoy didn’t stop there. With almost methodical attention to what he was doing, he curled his fingers under one strap and tugged it down her shoulder. Then he dragged his fingertips along her collarbone and did the same to the other strap. Hermione shivered. How was it possible to feel even more exposed like this than she would have if she had removed the garment altogether? 

Malfoy smirked at her as though reading her thoughts. And then, lifting his darkened gaze to her eyes, he hooked his finger under the center of her bra, right between her breasts, and used his grip on it to tug her forward. He bent his lips to hear ear. “You looked like a slut,” he whispered.

The effect was instantaneous. She stood there, arms entangled in her own bra straps, feeling wetness coat her knickers. She instinctively reached up and grabbed onto his shoulders, and they felt just as smooth and strong as they looked. “I couldn’t figure out why that turned me on so much,” she whispered, licking her dry lips.

Malfoy’s voice was taunting again. “You couldn’t figure it out?” He pulled back slightly to look at her, but she didn’t meet his eye. She studied the hollow of his neck as she slid her hands down his arms, finally easing them over his sharp hipbones. “It's simple.”

She drew closer to him, moaning when her nipples came into contact with his bare chest. He smelled absolutely wonderful – so human, and so very Draco Malfoy.

“Why did you _think_ it turned you on?” he asked.

She barely heard it over the hum of blood in her ears. Even after all they'd done, it felt surreal to be in this position. She was practically embracing Malfoy, as he stood there asking her to consider why she got off on being called names.

When she took too long to respond, he cradled her head in his hand, squeezing the nape of her neck to get her attention. “Granger. Tell me why.”

“I don’t know.” She knew. But she couldn’t put it into words. 

“You don’t know.” It wasn’t a question. His forehead touched hers, and she jumped. His breath was right against her lips. She could feel it when he spoke. “Is it because you _wanted_ to be a slut?”

 _Yes, yes, yes._ “Yes,” she whispered, and he moaned at the admission, pressing his lips to the side of her mouth.

It was like he was rewarding her candor, and the thought emboldened her. “ _Yes_ ,” she hissed in a louder voice, and he kissed her on the lips. Chastely. Then he caught her upper lip between his teeth and pulled. Hermione’s hands tightened on his hips, fingers digging in. 

His lips went back to her ear. “I wanted you to be a slut tonight.” The words were so incongruous with his strange tenderness. They slithered down her spine, pooling in fire between her legs. His voice dropped to a faint whisper. His next words would have been inaudible if not spoken directly in her ear, but as it was, she could feel them against her eardrum, agonizingly drawn out: “I wanted you to be a wet… dirty… cock-hungry… _slut_.”

The sudden onslaught of need was blinding. Yet even as her legs trembled with it, Hermione felt a perverse sense of power. It was like he had just given her permission to be someone else. And though he was careful not to outright call her the name, he obviously assumed she would have no trouble slipping into the role. 

He was right.

She pulled back to find Malfoy leaning into her and staring down at her as though he wanted to rip her in to pieces. It was a rush to know she could affect him like that. “I wanted you to get on the bed,” she said, not recognizing her own voice.

But he wouldn’t be Draco Malfoy if he made things easy on her. “I wanted things, too,” he replied, his tone as conversational as was possible at the moment. Again his eyes ran the length of her body. “I wanted you to take off your skirt.”

All right, she could do that. She stepped back, shaky fingers working the hook and zipper at the side of her skirt. She let it drop and basked in his reaction. His hands shot out immediately to grasp her by the hips, and when he pulled her back against him, she hissed in pleasure. There was something so wicked about feeling her nearly nude body against his half-clothed one. And he was hard. She could feel it against her belly.

And just when she thought she couldn’t feel any more depraved, Malfoy’s hand slid around her back, and he wrapped his fingers in the back of her knickers, and he pulled. She cried out, her back arching in such an exaggerated way that she felt bent in two. She could hear him chuckling, but all she could concentrate on was the way that lacy fabric was suddenly wedged against everything that ached to be stroked. 

“You didn’t even need to get naked,” he whispered, and she could hear the smile in his voice. God, that was sleazy. She would expect nothing less of Malfoy. “I just pushed everything out of my way.” As though to emphasize the point, he gave her knickers another tug while his other hand cupped her bare arse cheek and squeezed.

Was this how it was going to go tonight? Malfoy wanted to put her in charge and then test her control at every turn? At that thought, something clicked inside her. “I wanted you to get on the bed,” she repeated, her voice firm if slightly shaky. 

“Did you now?” he taunted her.

So she shoved him back onto it. The look on his face was one for the Pensieve. There was momentary surprise, of course. But then delight lit his sharp features, softening them. She never would have guessed, in a million years, that Malfoy would have a submissive streak. Actually, she wasn’t sure that he did. Not entirely, anyway. 

He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes wide. “What else did you want, Granger?” he drawled.

“I wanted you to scoot back,” she said, feeling power course through her even as it warred with apprehension. “And get comfortable.”

And that’s exactly what he did. He scooted back against the pillows. Then the insolent bastard took one from behind him, spent a moment fluffing it to his standards, and propped himself up on it. He folded his hands behind his head, and gave her a look that clearly said, _Well then?_

“You were about to find out what I’d decided,” she said, crawling onto the bed and straddling his legs. “I gave you one last chance to tell me which you wanted.”

Malfoy lowered his head, looking at her from beneath his brow, and with the faintest grin, he replied, “I trusted you to please us both.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. There were layers of meaning buried in that sentence. She couldn’t feel entirely warm towards him for his trust because there was a taunt beneath it. A challenge. “Maybe you were a fool,” she said, her fingers working on his belt.

“Not likely,” he countered, seeming for all the world unfazed that she was about to remove the rest of his clothing.

Oh yeah, she was going to make him squirm. Determination roared in her veins. She released the button and zipper on his trousers and yanked them down in unison with his pants, refusing to look just yet at what she’d uncovered. “You thought you knew me so well, then?”

Doubt flickered briefly in his eyes as she worked his trousers off, taking his shoes and socks with them. “You were an open book most of the time,” he asserted.

What a thing for him to say at that moment. Hermione paused to take in the sight of naked Draco Malfoy. He was perfectly comfortable in his skin. He crossed his ankles, looking as though he had just stretched out with a good book. One hand stayed behind his head, but the other spread out over belly. She had no doubt he would lower it to touch himself if she didn't act quickly enough for his liking.

That wasn't going to be an issue. She straddled his knees and wrapped her fingers around his cock. And he gave her that moan he had withheld when she did this before. “Ah,” she sighed, “but I bet you weren’t expecting _this_.” And with that, she licked a wet trail up the underside of his cock with the flat of her tongue.

Malfoy responded beautifully. He groaned through his teeth, and he grabbed handfuls of the bedding in his fists. Determined for more, Hermione wrapped her lips around his cock, as far down as she could go, and slowly pulled back, sucking.

“Fucking hell, Granger,” he panted. 

She gave him another slow lick. And then another. She licked around his shaft until it was coated with her spit, and then she took him in her mouth again and began a rhythm.

Hermione had admittedly imagined doing this to Malfoy. She had expected him to be the type to grab her by the hair, or at least to thrust into her mouth. Honestly, she had no problem with either because they would have been signs he was enjoying himself. Losing control. But she was shocked to find that Malfoy merely watched her with a sort of reverence, his whole body tense but still.

She pulled back momentarily. “You could enjoy,” she whispered, pausing a moment to swirl her tongue around the tip of his cock, “but you couldn’t come.”

His chest was rising and falling, his eyes wide. “I couldn’t make any promises,” he replied.

Hermione took him in as far as she could and gave him one more long, slow stroke with her mouth, reveling in his soft whine. “In that case—“

“No!” he cried as she moved to pull back completely. “All right.” He wet his lips. “I promised not to come,” he said softly. “But if you could see yourself… _oh god_ —“

He trailed off as she returned to her former rhythm, smiling slightly around his cock. It was a rare treat to hear such desperation from Malfoy. And Hermione liked doing this. She refused to believe there was anything debasing about an act that turned men into such mindless victims of their own need.

And Malfoy… god, he was tense with need. Wisps of his hair hung in front of his face, but he didn’t bother to push them out of the way. His lips parted around his shuddering breaths. His eyelids drooped, his forearms tensed as his hands curled into fists. “Fuck. Yes,” he whispered, tongue licking along his bottom lip. “ _Yes._ Just like that.”

He broke eye contact for a moment, throwing his head back, and Hermione closed her eyes and worked that much harder. Then his hand tangled in her hair at last. She heard him laugh, a delirious sound. “God, your lips looked good around my cock,” he said, and she looked up again to find him watching her. “If you kept that up… I was going to come.”

The thought galvanized her. She was dripping with arousal herself. But she wanted to get him as close as possible. She worked faster, concentrating her efforts on the sensitive head, and Malfoy whined through clenched teeth. “ _Granger._ ” She could feel him shaking, the muscles in his legs tightening. “I couldn’t hold off much longer.”

She pulled back, letting him go with an obscenely wet sound. He lay there starting at her, chest heaving, and his hand went to his cock to finish the job.

“No,” she said, batting it away. He looked confused for a moment, until she started tugging her knickers off.

“What are you—“

“I thought I might get off,” she said with a smirk. She moved to straddle him, sliding her wet folds back and forth over his cock. He groaned at the contact. “I assumed you had no objections?”

“Let me think about it,” he deadpanned. “No. No objections.” Then, with a devious grin, he added, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to settle for just one.”

Hermione chuckled, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “You didn’t deserve to get both,” she purred into his ear, even as she used her other hand to guide him to her entrance.

“I disagreed,” he replied, but his voice was tight.

She pulled her head back so she could watch his face as she sunk down onto him. His gray eyes were dark under his heavy lids. “But you were lucky. I wanted both.”

He hissed as she slid all the way down onto his length. “That made two of us.”

She started to move, and Malfoy reacted immediately, sitting up and reaching around to unfasten her bra. He got it on the first try. Of course he did, the smug git. He flung it aside and crushed their bodies together, attacking her neck with his wet lips. It was amazing. She never would have imagined they could fit together so well. 

“You felt… fucking _incredible_ ,” he whispered into her ear, as though reading her mind.

She worked herself mindlessly over him, letting the pressure build. “How so?” she managed to ask.

He hummed, pulling his lips back from one of her nipples. “Like a hot fist in a wet velvet glove.”

She clenched down on him then, partially to hear the groan it elicited from him and partially to encourage the heat and tension coiling in her abdomen. She adjusted herself until he was hitting exactly the right spot, and then she held his face against her bare breasts and pumped her hips. She didn’t know what was going to happen after she came, and she found that she didn’t care. All she could think about was that peak drawing nearer every moment….

“Are you close?” His voice sounded strained.

“Yes,” she panted. She was so close.

Without warning, Malfoy rolled them over, his cock slipping out of her. 

“What are you doing?!” she cried. What was his deal? She had been so close!

Undeterred, he guided himself back inside her and started thrusting. “You’re going to come with me,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he rolled his hips against her.

Yeah, it felt good, but… “I’d be surprised.” That was a myth, right? That people could come at the same time?

“Why?” he demanded. He threaded both hands into her hair and thrust slowly, deeply, giving her just the right amount of pressure but none of the speed she needed. “It happened in the library,” he reminded her. “I can hold off. You just have to stay with me.” Like she had in the library, in other words. That had been intense. “Don’t drift. Can you come like this?”

In that position? “I don’t know.” She never had before.

He grabbed her hands then, twining their fingers and holding her arms down. “We’re going to find out,” he whispered. She tested his hold, and he tightened his fingers around hers. Her eyes widened as she realized she wasn’t going anywhere. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, his hips snapping more quickly.

“I’m thinking this will never work,” she admitted.

“Then it won’t,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers. “Think something dirty.”

“Like what?” She wanted him to do the talking this time.

He exhaled sharply, and his thrusts slowed for a moment. “Do I have to guess, Granger?” he asked, his lips brushing hers.

“Please.”

He ducked his head, pressing his forehead against her sternum. “God, this feels good,” she heard him mutter.

It felt good to her, too. Malfoy’s body was sinuous. There was nothing erratic about his movements. They all seemed deliberate, focused. She lifted her hips suddenly to meet his thrusts, and he reacted with Seeker speed. His head snapped up, and he grabbed both of her wrists in one hand, holding them down over her head. _Yes._ That’s what she wanted.

“You’re on your belly with your arse in the air,” he whispered, leaving just enough room between their faces so they could watch each others’ eyes. His were dark. Glazed over.

“Yes,” she agreed breathlessly.

“Your face is in the pillow.” He looked almost possessed, and along with his words, it made Hermione’s blood catch fire. “I’m holding you down.” His thrusts sped to the point that he could only speak a few words at a time. “Hand between your shoulder blades.”

“Yes,” Hermione hissed. She worked herself against his pubic bone. She thought she might actually come from this, assuming he said the right things….

“You’re fighting me.”

Oh god, he was going to say the right things. "How did you know?" she managed to ask between gasps.

His eyes darted to her lips. "You've fought me. This whole time. Haven't you?" he whispered. His face took on a delicious edge of threat. "I like it. I want it." He punctuated the sentiments with especially brutal thrusts that had Hermione's back bent in two as she arched to get more. "“It makes me want to. Fuck you harder.”

“God, yes,” she panted, as he did just that. “More.”

“You’re screaming. You say you don’t want it.” He licked his lips, his eyes narrowing. “But you can’t get away.” The next two words came from between his teeth. “I’m stronger.” And to prove it, he squeezed his fingers almost painfully around her wrists.

Hermione heard a keening sound come from her own throat. It was working. She was getting closer….

“And we both know. You want it.”

“I want it,” she agreed. God, she wanted it. All of it.

“Then take it,” he whispered. Their skin was slick with sweat, and she could feel Malfoy tensing even as her own body started to tremble. “Greedy slut. Yeah, like that.” The set of his jaw was cruel. But his eyes were soft. It was impossible and perfect. “Take it. _Take it._ ”

“Now,” she managed to warn him, just before her climax overtook her.

At that word, he lost his rhythm. She felt him pulsing inside her, and she couldn’t tell exactly whose spasms were whose. She saw his brows knit together, his lips part on a silent cry, even as she felt ecstasy course through her, felt her own body clench around his. He released her wrists, and her hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his sweat-damp hair. 

And the look in Malfoy's eyes was so much more intimate than any kiss could have been.

Panting heavily, he pressed his forehead against hers, finally closing his eyes. “Hermione.” He said it as though he had never called her anything else. Then he wet his lips and chuckled. She could feel his heart beating. “You unbelievably sexy little minx.”

It sent aftershocks through her body, the way he said such a dirty thing with such reverence. But the afterglow didn’t last long because—

“Why the hell does it smell like something is burning?” he asked, pulling back slightly. 

It was coming from the foot of the bed.

Hermione thought for a moment, and then, both amused and slightly disgusted, she said, “Malfoy, you put the list in your _pocket_?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Why?”

“It’s smoke. The list burned up.” When he started to look alarmed, she went on quickly, “Self-extinguishing fire charm. Your trousers won’t get burned.” She chuckled. “But the list is gone.”

Hermione thought it was funny that they were having this conversation while still basically connected at the loins. 

“You….” He paused, looking speechless and a bit impressed. “You mean you tried to trick me?”

Hermione smirked. “Yeah, looks like you have no chance of winning that bet. But if Zabini still has a list of his own by tomorrow, then you’re welcome to seek your revenge.”

“I might have to do that anyway,” he growled, once again twining their fingers and holding her hands down against the mattress. 

“I might like to see you try,” she whispered.


	10. Good feeling

_Sunday 14 February  
10:12am_

Hermione awoke late on Sunday morning, stretching luxuriously. She was exhausted and a little sore. Pleasantly so. When she and Draco had finally parted the previous evening, he'd had a wild sort of look in his eye. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

 _Meet me at noon tomorrow_ , he had said, _outside the Great Hall. For the kiss._

And he had seemed giddy. Needless to say, Malfoy was rarely giddy.

At eleven-thirty, Hermione walked to the Great Hall with Lavender for lunch. They didn’t mention the list, or Valentine’s Day, or anything other than their next Charms essay. They spoke quite formally. Hermione was slightly worried that she was going to be the only one with no list to present. Then she remembered that Lavender Brown was involved here. 

Hermione met Draco’s eye when they entered the Great Hall. He was shamelessly staring at her, and he still looked giddy. Zabini looked tired but smug. Neville was nowhere to be found.

At eleven forty-five, Pansy sat down primly across from them at the Gryffindor table, unfolded a napkin and placed it in her lap, and started helping her plate as though they all routinely dined together.

And then there was silence.

* * *

_Sunday 14 February  
11:45am_

" _There's_ Er-my-nee," Ron said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, nodding down the Gryffindor table. "What's she doing eating with Lavender and Pansy Parkinson?"

Harry was flipping absent-mindedly through a worn copy of _Famous Seekers of the British Isles_. "I don't know. Aren't they in one of Flitwick's study groups together?" 

Ron shook his head, sympathizing with Hermione's study partners. "She must really be cracking the whip, if she's got them studying on a Sunday."

"Hmm," Harry non-responded.

Ron continued to eat pensively. "Seems like she hasn't been around much lately."

Harry shrugged, flipping a few pages. "I've seen her here and there. Mostly going to and from the library."

"Yeah…" Ron trailed off, thinking. "You know, she never let me borrow those History of Magic notes."

Harry yawned spectacularly, a fitting response where that class was concerned.

"D-d-d-don't do that!" Ron said, abandoning himself to an enormous yawn of his own. He put down his fork and stretched. "So. I don't think anyone's booked the pitch for this afternoon. You wanna toss the Quaffle around?"

Harry perked up. "You bet."

* * *

_Sunday 14 February  
11:47am_

The three girls all worked very hard at eating and avoiding eye contact. There was a lot of meticulous bread-buttering and meat-cutting.

Hermione was sure that Lavender would be the first to snap, but she held firm, peeling an orange with a somewhat dreamy expression on her face. Pansy’s lamb chop was in about thirty small pieces.

Finally, Hermione couldn’t take it anymore.

“I suppose everyone has big plans for today?” she asked, as casually as she could.

Pansy smirked. “ _Enormous_ plans.”

Lavender sucked on an orange wedge thoughtfully. Then she gave Hermione a sly grin. “ _Lengthy_ plans,” she said.

This was ridiculous. Someone was going to have to be the first to 'fess up.

Lavender finally caved. She sat up straight, wiping her fingers on her napkin. “You know, it's the funniest thing,” she said with a light giggle. “It seems I misplaced my list.”

Pansy chewed daintily on a miniscule fleck of lamb chop. “Interesting,” she said conversationally. “Mine disappeared, too. Into thin air.” She shot Hermione an accusatory look.

Hermione felt awash with relief but said nothing.

“Granger?” Pansy prodded her sharply.

“Huh?” She acted startled. “Yeah. Mine's gone, too. Strange.”

“I knew you couldn't do it!” Pansy hissed, pointing her finger at Hermione.

Hermione chuckled. “I never thought you _would_ do it.”

Pansy only looked affronted for a second. Then she grinned. “Yeah, neither did I. By the way, _ouch._ ”

“I never thought I could do it so many times in one night,” Lavender said with another giggle.

Hermione sighed, sticking her fork in a chunk of roast potato. “We're so weak.”

“Who cares?” Pansy spat. “Again, it’s Valentine’s Day, and we have dates. Mission accomplished.”

Well, mission _almost_ accomplished. She looked towards the Slytherin table. Draco looked ready to burst. She couldn’t figure it out. She was looking forward to the kiss, too, but she thought his visible anticipation was a bit much, especially after all they had done the previous day.

Then she found herself blushing.

She cleared her throat. “So everyone's happy, then?”

“Deliriously,” Pansy said, shifting in her seat.

“Exhaustedly,” Lavender said, but she did not look tired in the least bit.

Hermione took a sip of pumpkin juice and found herself smiling. “Unregretta—“ She gasped. “— _bly_.”

Something was not right. Something was very, very wrong. The goblet in her hand felt like ice. She set it down carefully, wincing. She was afraid her fingers would stick to it when she pulled them away, but they didn’t.

Her clothes. They were killing her. She froze, but even the movement of her breath made her clothes scrape painfully against her skin. Her nipples. They were on fire. And she could feel every seam in her jeans. In fact, the back pockets were painfully digging into her derriere. When she shifted, trying to alleviate the pressure, she had what she could only describe as a mini-orgasm. It was all of the spasming and none of the release.

She gasped for breath, flattening her palms against the tabletop. No! It was too rough. She jerked them away.

“Perfect,” Pansy was saying in the distance. “And right on time, too.”

Hermione sat as still as she could. She could feel wetness coating the crotch of her knickers. “You. Did. This?”

Pansy rolled her eyes in slow motion. Hermione found herself staring at Pansy’s lips. She had excellent lips. Hermione had never noticed them. 

“I think the more appropriate question,” Pansy was saying, and she looked highly amused, “is how does a person have sex without getting a kiss?”

Kiss. Yes, that’s what she needed. She didn’t want to kiss Pansy, though, no matter how pretty her lips were. She wanted to…. Wait… time felt weird… the room seemed to be thrumming.

“Can't. Think. Straight.”

Pansy waved her hand, and it left lots of hands in its wake. “It will wear off,” she said. Then she gave Hermione a wicked grin. “Once you get the kiss. Or you could go to the hospital wing. Either way.”

Hermione pressed her eyes closed, trying to get control over herself. She could do this. She could fight it. She had to. Or maybe she would try to get up and hobble to the hospital wing. But no, she would rather hobble over to the Slytherin table. She might have to crawl. Her legs felt shaky.

“Want,” she panted because it was the only word her brain seemed able to form.

“So?” Pansy shrugged. “Go get.”

Oh no, Pansy didn’t understand. Hermione glanced around, paranoid. She expected everyone to start staring at her any minute. She was sure she was throwing off buckets of pheromones.

“People,” she gasped.

Lavender started to look worried. “Is she going to be okay?”

Pansy look a little concerned herself, but then she shrugged it off, taking another one of those tiny bites of meat.

Ugh. The food in front of her looked disgusting. Hermione wanted to throw her plate across the room. It was wrong, wanting food, needing food, when Draco—

“Yeah, she's fine,” she heard Pansy saying. “If she'll get off her arse and get the kiss, she'll be even better.”

“Kiss,” she panted. Yes, she had to get that kiss.

“That’s right,” Pansy prodded. She was looking at Hermione with a goading smirk. “You want it, don't you, Granger? I said you might like this, remember?”

And yes, it was starting to become more pleasant. Or at least, she didn’t feel the need to start tearing off her clothing anymore. She still felt like she might have an orgasm if she stood up, but she was going to have to stand up and walk. She focused on one blonde head across the room. He was looking at her with wide eyes. Oh yeah, that’s what she wanted.

“Going now,” she announced.

“Good idea,” she heard Pansy say, but she was already headed around the end of the table. She could barely feel the movement of her own feet, though she could feel every crack in the floor beneath them.

She took deep, rattling breaths, entirely unconcerned about anything but getting to Malfoy. He was perfect. Well, no, even now she knew that he was far from perfect. But he was damned good-looking, and he had what she needed, and she was going to get it or break them both trying.

He watched her as she approached, and she realized that she was going to have to calm down, at least until she could get him out of there. And she was going to do _that_ as soon as possible.

“Granger,” he purred, letting his gaze visibly rake over her body. “You look… happy to see me.”

His voice. It was like honey, and she wanted to tilt the jar up and let it drip onto her tongue.

She halted. Every curse word she knew went through her brain at the same time. He knew. This was what he had been so giddy about. He knew what was happening to her.

 _Calm_ , she told herself. She eased herself down next to him, almost crying out when her arse made contact with hard wood. Pleasure shot through her, and she concentrated on not grinding against the bench.

“I think,” she started, hearing the hoarse quality of her own voice, “you have.” She cleared her throat. “Abookofmine.”

She found it was best if she just spat all the words out at once.

He looked thoughtful. He – oh, how she hated him – he ran a finger over his lips. “Are you sure? I don’t remember borrowing a book from you.”

She focused on that motion. She wanted, more than anything in the world, to take that finger and suck it between her lips. She couldn’t even remember what they were supposed to be talking about.

“The book,” she said. She needed to get him out of here.

“Which book?”

She wanted to kill him. With her lips. It was confusing. “Coalbishop.” She had no idea how she managed to remember that or get it out.

“Ah, yes.” He shrugged slightly, and she found that she desperately wanted to lean over and nibble on his shoulder. Then she felt—

“Ah!” she cried out, immediately adding a _choo_ , trying to hide her impending orgasm behind a fake sneeze.

The bastard had his hand under the table, on her thigh. He squeezed gently, and she felt sparks shoot all the way to her ribcage. She banged her fists on the table helplessly.

“You know, I'm really not sure what happened to that one,” he said, his voice pensive.

She grabbed his hand and dug her nails in, trying to prevent its movement upward. If he touched her there right now, her scream might shatter the windows of the Great Hall.

“Let'sgolook,” she pleaded.

“You all right there, Granger?”

Oh god. Zabini. She chanced a look. He was so damned pretty that she wanted to punch him repeatedly. He had a knowing look on his stupid pretty face.

“I'm good,” she spat. Malfoy used the distraction to move his hand inward. She couldn’t help it. She moaned softly.

“Are you sure? You look agitated,” Zabini continued ruthlessly.

“Malfoy,” she snapped.

“Yes?” he purred. “ _Granger_?”

She thought her nails might be drawing blood from his hand. She hoped so. “I need that book,” she said. She stared into his eyes, willing him silently to leave with her before she embarrassed them both. “ _Badly._ ”

He leaned in a little bit, looking like he might kiss her right there. But no. He just said, “Then maybe we should go look for it.”

Then he was tugging her by the hand, out of the Great Hall, and she didn’t know or care where they were going. All she knew was she would be kissing him in a few blessed moments, and all would be right with the world again.

But he walked and walked and walked. No, he strolled. Then he twined their fingers together, and she whimpered.

She couldn’t take it one more second. She slammed him against the wall, reveling in his look of surprise. “Pansy. Told you,” she gritted.

“Yeah, she did,” he replied with a smirk. “Yesterday afternoon. Warned me, rather. And now I see why.”

Her whole body shook with ragelust _need_. “That. Makes me. Angry.”

He grabbed her by the upper arms and reversed their position, ramming his knee between her legs, his thigh right up against the soaking wet crotch of her jeans. She threw her head back against the wall, her body shaking violently with another of those mini-orgasms. 

“Funny,” he whispered. “You don’t feel very angry to me.”

She looked up at him, unable to focus on anything but his lips. “Kiss me.”

His body changed against her. It became sinuous. His arms wrapped around her, hands caressing her, and it did nothing to ease the ache. “Ah. Hermione,” he whispered against her ear. She trembled. “Tell me. How badly do you need it?” Then he pulled away abruptly, his voice clinical. “Scale of one to ten.”

She mindlessly grabbed his shirt and ripped it, buttons flying everywhere, hands grasping for skin.

He looked shocked for a moment. Then: “We’ll call that a ten.”

“Kiss me,” she demanded, tangling her hand in his hair. It felt like cool liquid against her fingers. She started grinding herself against him, but it didn’t help at all. It was just friction. She felt like she was having one long orgasm without any of the release.

“As I understand it,” he said, looking down at her hips, “that kind of thing is only going to make it worse.”

“Kiss me.”

He smiled. “I’m starting to think you might want me to kiss you.”

“Yes,” she panted. “Please.”

He leaned in and placed his wet lips against the soft spot of her neck, where he had left his first mark. She felt the first sign of relief since this all started. His lips were the cure. “Here?”

She swallowed. Her throat felt parched. “No.”

“Oh, my mistake,” he said with a chuckle. “Here, then?” He pressed his parted lips to her brow, inhaling on the kiss.

“Draco. Please.”

“Mmm. How about here?” Just as he had done during their first date, he kissed the very corner of her mouth, and she almost exploded. 

She grabbed onto his destroyed shirt, whimpering, feeling every muscle between her navel and her knees tighten.

“Are you…” He pulled back, looking at her curiously. “Are you having an orgasm?”

“Ican'ttellanymore,” she said helplessly.

“Wow.” And, at that, he took mercy. “So… we need to do this with tongue, if I remember correctly?”

“Need,” she agreed.

He brushed his lips against hers. “I need it, too. It was so hard not to kiss you last night.” He gave her a soft, chaste kiss, and she felt herself coming undone. “I want to kiss you all day today. And fuck you. And kiss you some more. And fuck you some more—“

She jerked at his shirt. “Less. Talk. More. Tongue.”

He obeyed.

At the first caress of his tongue, the charmed need abruptly died away, and she felt completely sated.

Then he moaned into the kiss, and the real need kicked in.

_The End_


End file.
